#Women in suits simply makes me ill I suppose | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

libidomechanica · 1 year ago

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A rispetto sequence

But he surf in all in their pretty pleasurable song, form’d to point of her leagues not to thy guide … nor several flattering on a king low drum. Being friend’s her smiling sight; now another attention of a minute’s, and down; we knowledge, my heart, cannot why he treasure, fie! Then gusts relent, and from this fancies should turn his best overpower shut my fire.

About each from the meant here! Sighs, and the eyes watched what Weakness of children—women must looking the schoolmastern king, how a waves the sea. His visit us and gold men did shine eye in the midst the moon art, the said; she known; found no war is I said, In Heaven’s flesh white brain, rain to vulgar by mends her on a bands: O noble the was ward, in ill alone cure, fie!

III

Music, the pass’d a strikes to sented? By so you by! Each reach virgin zone; she narrow conceit did shed claret, fear pig, are not unperceived so clean. Young Desire, at he feast, until this is was his that. And rhymes—as if aught to one chaste flesh officient fable—just as should ceas’d within my should gae mad, o whistle, and compassion with it. Formed too, for chain.

Within clouded eyes, but little Mermaiden fish, and does this, the never all, and can’t feel the river, yet to-day invasion. Can with a smile, the comes frore, you with not shrieks in such a coast, shore that that Pity soone and his scythe took some change and all the become to tutors. Religion weeping at so imbrue the sung in some side my honest they living name you art!

And place, as women for a rock of a sing. Or swore; and there we may stainless consorts in Cashmire is no line, and be thy hard to cometh not, but stewards to ride like dissolving eyes so go … Masons, champ and thou look’d in a stab herself! Has every is you better thee his simply ripened many a squadron flies, table scaffolds the furrow? Cut of her side.

Backward: she said not,—and who cried, and hoarse which was most suits a love, or in that hour refus’d, being it on Patience; he self-discovered, latest words have chain o’er is in the moon only life unbelieve my ear; children deare, to each tide or page; why does heart into heavily, i’m wear the martyr, and stray; your disgraceful ladders, also when, you see, ’ and Wedlock.

VII

I will become how true lament of rum. Her very day; ruin anywhere, ’ reign eye, they presence use depends twined to melt roast of soür ale sometimes seaweeds by his eye; or will he shown: to the signing receiv’d, spreads bow, adding mouths of some more when nightingale’s general. Also was nothing So we falshood still’d for loss of his worship so recall all of grow.

VIII

A moments pretty pleasures may note. The sharply: Strikes in summer smells on us love. Now with prevents married me, and they stay before- ’—Oh! The mountaining—and the snow, and and one admiring them make suspicion strings which he transfuse your tongue, the swing after that I deem’d to writing the though the virgin’d to come to a moment, drawes our body and the caves!

Thus to day, to blood on him had loved and looked his good topples roar and he, it would sees through, and as a thunderstands your sky, the wear a web of an according sweet, and my kind, since that your mourneys, groves, and words obey that his garded to seeks we still silver-green glory, for an imperiously blackness. As Baba: but what sweet a work, sit on bliss; fie pleasure.

I arise a full, but he seen can ail them who hold of the fades in my ain dear, was wondering a present mine own eyes, singing mute, and walking, the fault I brings with your winged inwardly don’t; beyond times Sun him out my hand serene! Left long was as out thought, and shame back, but Lovers all; ye glory in ever; quo’ she through the fast the fullest the autumn’s bride.

And cuckoo; cuckoo that we have supt, I won’t supposed cages walking young me more do fade: she kiss would not quite shrink a dreamed of Leutha’s vale: thou here is nest; with the ches. So the shore thro’ his spleen, were as much like a key in ever deepe from cold day my only light have praising ere two women; for them yet, thou payèd were fix’d; the same; exceeded broke my skill’d with losse.

XII

Holding; and thered; her heart, and gave light. Were na look’d the strength I recall those is not to and Tom bearded, my blot the warlike they setting gem; and means be this never foul prey’d fifth care? Ah, how with a son. Another, toss, at did from them like ugly raven a life—send very element the bled like needling-place of a sings wings, and sang to the cause of Light!

XIII

, Whether, Prince, ev’n to get that sweet yoke in such as I came her fear! At lass, but when you will except to vulgar the feeble after, how wise; but if that’s deare Sonne betwixt myself once show much this life and sighs, and love, nor threaded with lullaby you ran ancient epic laws untwine, dry the river! Shall boast of feasted then, being and none by the cold desire!

XIV

And, and the merchanter’s pick it— but the kind? Advantage from Gulbeyaz’ eyes were fair wert left on grows purity we hither the bargainst they see—or idly rich is not, she will that I trust thy purling look a lass, if we love is Shadow of a kind of the secret shadow in my hand serenity—the pot, I free. And cold flowers; ’ except to the Roses!

Him she crevice personal life, I rate on a splendor. What in pure and they who buy. This why should not stay, she drag-chains to recoiling the victories should altogether; thou transitory to me, and blowing; thereth to be still, I wander’d her eare. Oh my tree. When so good? Became a boundaries she creep she widows, Lady, I ne’erthrowing blades of dewy bed!

XVI

They do not dissolve the look leave, the land, where, or by mists dying of death! And more crush’d past solid find of golden pledge, who costly present less; others love, that Miracles him from his forth, and let a thousand miser to holds fall on in his cheeks as Venus room in anywhere proof how shake in seems fertile it a cherish: she oft for on this head with aching.

XVII

For studs; and in their babes to whose my Sandy O, my lad, o we wild when sometimes under with except to showering gem; and to Baba, whose not go gentler pain—why does he dews a hostess desert. Distract; plain to the old negro, pray do ye forget to-day is as such an appears of what in a cat, or poppy see—or if you said, we are shake the more.

XVIII

Is just condemne note. And then new the doors; but my fillèd alike only his losing to Her we loved me of oriental strutted, to hell: wha spied at the custom of the firm soil sell—all from the must still: they whose serv’d my other angel becommence in the meant, I loverslide intented o’er that ye form the poor drinking the bright each other; to worry him.

XIX

Still then he father debtor Next, share—he sake, and a maid, surprised pleasure, for truth anguid smile, her fault was glow between nurse who makes me dizzy to love’s temple’s turnest worth eternal slave, on the low; now a black friendship has every to temperors are the envier? All of sleeps, perswaded panes. It would you a nymph- like a length milky way, the favour, she this.

And made for auction upon my harme dizziness … and bent light make your dream; there them, as throne, whom his name? And lovely eyes of all, in thickly to outlive also confidently mistake such a genial? Thou from aught me in mine, and move and yet contrary effect on grown with our good, or power turn’d my dying like of Lamech is which neuer tack’d woman Old.

XXI

Three lady, or where, dropt with a virtue lamps, as smooth all appeare, what you be shore. Here kingdoms of selfish holds of the grey stone, and cry world leave to the worldly flowers; but I did; and bright and one of pale and lift me good nature, which they right of the pausing its for Seas Seven wings, or kind. The others pay what stric juice will in another in Heaven showed lawn.

XXII

All flame of dwell that torment height once with furs and the other heart the iudge appears. Remember thought moss the earth beauty in the ripe birds sing. Then the prove thou awakes, a sicke in his like religious dropp’d; but I know, if matters round, were came vested leaves. Children’s exuberant with a song very eyes—some other adds to thee, as the other own by what house.

XXIII

Communing might with amid them so’ ’T was woman, I’ve far-off belle Dame sixth shee the tame place of my youth shriek’d, for instrument: twere sate with except thou have send: through we inhabitation. She order’d man on me said; she same down lassie yet! Bride out of youthful should! We know where mistakes out my head, ye roses from a sepulchre, all reporter to than delight.

XXIV

For thinking out someone amongst throught make threefold and upon his half-world to infant lips in: since I Ioues cup do keep to death-pale stake such a small our mountain to ask how and transformal come to defilèd bosom: my mother with a string and the height berries and blessing to the years, there no equal. For speak; for dry empty this line’s shine and I rise as mild!

XXV

What, snug study, and love in proper could turned, it must lost in such as dotted with sympathized in there dead! You are their name. Or farther chance of night divine in my arms pale page freër unders from with secret, his dark caverns when saith, and fire flashing made you be supprest thro’ the best out the was he same find us not whate’er left his mouth it sets us free.

XXVI

And ever, a grand that’s freely scarce better face, with lullaby. ’Re trip for him to knows! Here your leaves, and called; ever course. As done. She same into the more that beams arise world’s weigh’d down, shall beautiful, exactly. And are once age appeare: on their hammer smocks of monsters. To time wile you should we wish to infant light less, dear delight. A hirèd a very weak.

XXVII

I wrote thinke the Turks—as if she your heard her mind, she reasons, on the merchant? Ask the light faith; but in the strikes that is that great morning sign’d to Juan who taste flesh and near heaven moved connubial an among them. But a glass, beautiful embodied and all the prepare to live lovely shed on more pearl. The free under you? And then the height feel pain, let me leave, life.

XXVIII

Men at lovely July-flowers, and it words are a pretty maintain-tops with them a voice, and his woe. When a Church on Juan ancient weighing in the praise he verge of mounting sigh. While, and I, o whistle, as I had best bands the night promise as the land on me, you play’d your chamber mouth that grieved in aprille, þat fall his vilest feelings made her feel that love you.

XXIX

As been form, that she left the side, who did of muscle, as the bind his eyes of mone! Rejoice into Don Juan, ’t were color anywhere in with no wizardry old miser to seeks were to mone! Almost inter stout boat, and make a sigh; a tone than crowne, and for which—as we prove, but pray your glad eyes fit fortune once that may never this! Then the sea breathed then the sea.

XXX

Walls, and glitter. So lately foe, great god Pan, and worse. The stake, by the heart. By large, along thirty despotism in lost ere my halls, the does spring’st thou ask a text she can I fail like a gown mince, ere the grave, on the private this lullaby, my Sandy O; tho’ father, which he sodger. The curtain, since fellow wails his deare, that bad luckily from me. Of kill’d?

XXXI

I loved to pant. And gins are like palace maintance almost thought my smart, that I show frank, who make fast hour mind; it is majesty of love depends intenses radiant deeper knee to awaken spreads I kissed, even men, devil shaft struck the the whistle, and them? Awoke, I needles, and a keg of this: the giant lips; she, she meantime death, and after I ne’er left.

XXXII

When think your memory—odours fall: they master’s earth of the shiness … and beguile; and all the growes neere, encourage appetite. While, he dogs, other was set. Wild me infinite black fellow Polish sweet a flower caprice, Vengeance, my one, each rend to recall they trod as mild beames, that doubt that you don’t, best- naturally his cigaret! In our floor bright winced.

XXXIII

Sap check’d heart of poverty? Sweet thy vttermost the white trill. As the ghost they wonder eye hath sovereign’d, of that dreams did grow by the stretched me of solitude, you by! The dying it light, which you, except in the deep the world arise! Behind, which are the sun; and now befal love you I love, the whales come down; and newer pursue it. He devil snare.—My Sandy O.

XXXIV

) That with wide, and loved, that garden, at leaves she! I embracing soul would sees part and what does is a glimmers. But exquisitely smile, the world aught shame spring which I lose minister and pat his world wind, where some prepared, replied through your past and small of blood was Cupid, as she! His toiled and welcome to bed horribly tent stir of inward, and mind, the rose spring.

XXXV

If their roots are doubt he’s comes to wand turning— whose falshood stands obay; her dying changed me. ’Tis not save nation: poor so it dissemble, with in that make a small flesh touch upon white as if your mind meant for makes her bribe me bought; for as he purple robe thou see, which destruck that god Pan, the lips the scaffolding; yet am fled more So we are similes and short.

XXXVI

Which we were are not ashes mixture me dearest golden gusts shine easier done? Down. But as I, which or craft had done wonder’d his own swung them thinkin o’t; the bought, and she is but nothing town a shift and all she screen new pain or and Sunne-borne away, to guiltless loved to pad, wilt; for a flame. And o’er, and she, your for these the daggering throughts of repining?

XXXVII

In the sorrow by the sublime; the Champak odour at time, and round in hath some to you sing the Daughty and them backward; and come to governour, may swych a few shine and her slave o’t; robert Burns: fie on shadows great expense; but Loue doth rise, an immensurate, then blackleg, broadcast our Love. But mine, as lofty as any eden weary, aweary vaults.

XXXVIII

Said I pardon crave which for he now’s fallyt on the suns of the great mouth, and driue sone angry word. His many women’s naturally find of abstractional praction it man take to come, droop not: Fortune at youthful-grinning while he spake: o Elenor, beware them all to enclosed woes a cravat; for through piece o’ his vow, or all amorous trill. A whore, harsh fear.

XXXIX

Sometimes monarchs are that render tears. The laboured Queen of its ray? Sat a Love’s tear silently, an old new; one’s shall I never spin one on the should show and the mountain price, quoth Baba bow’d still now, if the great god the night aid. ’ Father life unbelievers, on the way did I say were a present above and griefe. Although which made them within the river. Mind.

Tis too widows directly took another Arac, nor great black from birth I saw, in her night I’d lost tending their flower to seeketh rust as wing overruled aside went to a cages walk’d by feature’s no more! Like then spell out though the more similes yet shalt by night while, took the hardly cruel fire; i’me wealthful year; but the smiles; pity; or wherever you?

XLI

Appetites, and up in joy and we say. I should by now just no men make in baba and not bound help would she is new. But a merry nod was you’d returns without boat, stand, turning; makes for euery farewell at not be sifted ways stuck hard with her blush and the after, as to stone, one view, dissembles sickle of you though the neere I trust into tears, and meekness.

�� XLII

Such a stab herself and Asian shadow from her. We throughts, who give the blue, betraide, and away, by all he did erre, if judged she gaze, from his cometh not, she has their hinges creek belovèd as a wide of her very weak rib by a day till the cheek grows ever, snowy limbs, and then this small lives, not dazzled,—that copy die, are his fell: what not dazzling my gold.

XLIII

Until your dead on they gush’d from and who waiting, wilt thou be a Woman weeping, that I went that we burning for chambers, all equal, but cruelness. As a spot of either, little once, which bound like a full cause I did market range afflictions, was been pass such the hour eye. And saw thee it a churl Death take casts of him the mouse Nancy; stretched white, and hoary, away!

XLIV

In deservice of wines, and I much I felt most curiosity: for so, as he same as though yet, and prison, sure hath there with the love’s yokes almost joys and some Babe, that none or poison, and quailed. And lust? Shone from the who dare not yet—ah me! What set as we might to must bear as black from myself and lads that fly by night, weight upon a blink of desire!

XLV

Ask me no fair, the eyes, but, Oh alas, if she courted: whateuer fault on a survive me this. She wintry languish moist and the could constella is not truly sympathy this delight in golden show you could see a presides, I’m hung, a thou up in jest; and the breast. The cast friends, your partake you a nymph replies lit within nor their rightly pasture-ground its way?

XLVI

I will life desired children’s hardly leave, what some spring and most rocks, secure and discern the gentle way in Mens fallyt on grow old of your voices e’er keep take! Ah, how she wise may pierce revives; and to rest the drew her dear I have loom; and there shall pass’d with velvet moan. But peace been and dreamed I saw the cause martyr’s grace nor love had weird seizures groan rank grass!

XLVII

Sunbeam must be thy words ease; and ivy buds and with the play the court and it the bowers of solely, and o’er measures of state it is pity Natures stream, oothoon, were battle. The leave had learn, to her waking the sea. And all in they falling it, that dare not afraid … I proper ploughs mortality distress; she winds alone and water, and hair! My wing’d wide night?

XLVIII

And she world arise softly tenth Muse; peace, people less pure. Of whom true, a think with a bleeding; he same Bashaw must part of beer a little making brothed that the means subtill the lang—taken by charm’d to hide the dragon-fly to he cast loved you shew us Joyes, and in dark does against the fruits found, upon your bombers, when who did drinks all who before heaths stay!

XLIX

I fancies? She stars above, where we are grey church cannot lovelier lays his leaves, one view the put for it flame: while I shall not top fondly, I must no date ne’er song, these than shed in walls of designs—that more the Bosphorus cousin, ’ as fast breaking eyes the furniture the eyes, youth reflect traverse which bound thus far as oars come honest wild despite things and his gauze?

Of a good! A long although his straws, that dreams are shadows beside and be married again. As if a flitting fairily well might have nor can tell me where and we hither as a hostess dove, and your walls on a work divided spider chaste like two soule four. Where solid stone he purchase female has serenely alchemy; and rather waking backe, then, or one?

All say with a soul of a wide-embrance court my lips taste like a cherish no lady’s hair works on you would Fate sic a language who by there thine who had not by now beside the eyes of Creech; and worse to gaze, and the stept up, thy haruest-time be desire! And mutter delight so your truth, or are write may reflection slide, spread, his day to ye, my wealth, in the breath.

LII

With a faery’s spread, each surrounding wings nor Lawes, and your soul of things charms the many wanton babes have fourth, and a little ones of yonders had leave thanking out a woman’s close threshold you, by Satan’s eyelids mouth inwardly would solitude’s. Such a gentle found to guess he’s give mean that the wide world, in rather on a fair Elenor! And fit to so rare.

LIII

I feeds my heart, when it all with the love’s great black staggering of the face not a silver babe falls that I do not everything through you. They shepherd swains and star in the secret, sad eye, round it yesterday and fashion to obey’d on eithere and stag she had leaves upon this middle aged, on the ranks of that not thus shows than fame or brethren, calm; thought her, O!

LIV

Somewhere year it be above and sighing thy brand at the other, much bettering kind out, and knows! What tree, it ne’er is fourth sweet last shall guised pleasure. Sandy brands than a morals were bowl, the sands the gratefully strings which made fiers must surprised note, while other oathsome poor heavenly perish: looking spring and troubled into my mothers in against my harm.

Like cast out of than one at the far-off grass eternal Worlds worse. Her pictur’d-for you with a wide, that’s how mourn, sometimes Sun and daisy, safely wise; so those farmer, yet now we pull; but her he’s held Love isles, and all thine of sleep becomets, too, and baskets of beer an’ I’ll bear the long. ’ Baba, nodding new. Set me with pulse and you should exist in act, readiness.

LVI

As if she free, forget here Nabuchadonosor, king, Baba smiling of the Norther knowledged shall darke, sir; for beames, all this one out at naked as she saw thee modern build woof, what can lord were few hours life? Hint that valley of the was bound an impossible, he oriental shelves in the hundred spleen, where we dark brow; but one day of mischiefe light.

LVII

Of his said the custom still remits that longer mother den, so you occur infancy aft I have restrain clinking fire land on both in such gems and there’s much I miss’d the snow she sake, and and prison from me. Next day, all were dissolves, shall part into the owl, the small alone like Heaven of sighing, was to the voice they quick, we love away his but rainbow.

LVIII

Vehement straightway I every tongue, and afternoon where bland, and though soon shadowed the doing, because, nor man take you said, I am this his veil the still now a flame. My Maud and the Axis hall permit a place; I lovely Pussy saint’s Grave for in temple speaking! Are written till once she goes a birds spire, giving while thought of self and passage hidden roses.

LIX

Like in property diplomatic hands obay; as ended his guide: there’s noon where and demands unkind, which for rave, life by the summer bed, singing me or suit in law. Wall, and die. The vale: art that which her the wide: he mulberry and such as I have away from Heaven know nough he negro told him, when their daughters pay which dreamed, and pray the pair such a hearse.

Are not lovely cares? By you will gaze in my birth I spoke no needs a glimmers in its stay that I was therefore had; and owne his own her sicken, and the riversing themselves; say the cruel is righten’d her sent in the where not enought upon you write moderate puts all the white. Include the business, in her fear, the caves, sustain trouble have a green west weep the more!

LXI

Spirits, and his cold and now, yet I feed a cherub cease a burther, and wall a sluice as to still I pour most lose his perfect to times Sun and the moon began to turnest land doom with gory blood, the nightly mind. An hour oozed, purity the wide drawn, but Bromion’s ill play their eye: yes; and high? Singing moonlights in sad rimes, lest within the Piggy, I thousand said.

LXII

What while pray, to guerdon cracked Pagan, said I am near it. And variety its from scissors that long and sometimes Sun and yet it were was warm, they bowstrung Anthea bad and daisies which a female have no worship to temple’s awe and the luminous snake, and might on a broke to you rise in cups of old, who ne’er so it chasten’d domes die, bonie Sandy O.

LXIII

-Rose in the milk come quite curse the would that dare not weeping, Christian, my ware? Alone amongst the gave my rack one, I noticed on him she rank as ye wrack against my lad, o whistle, and comfortable thought, Power with me along on a show. Where much in this is a joy, O joy, for both dawn and men did melted joys of desire! And yet was glory of men.

LXIV

The halls, were describe; describblers to choke. Ghost too long. And you in that she same downrightning most live thy wife? On the come to come away from ours, none in this long the oriental scrupulosity; I never know who have consorts are wrings which I remembering toward, their child of age stray; the South in waves rooms, splash and in stews, the born beam must be solitude’s.

LXV

The last, my mingle lady Godes moderately that god that made himself shalt find on glass, beauty would arise mad, or the worship aduaunce, I love. Because thrown all: throng’d abouts, in ground, fee by the height of drunkards me, since Adam which else first, as they sent sorrows stormy, the Northern stand a marry force with horror lightness, haunt of relish her life is cleere.

LXVI

Now course at he fair maid, object; then these pleasure breath, or poison, and corrupt my Love. At while Natures to tire off its endears, which— as well; till that was a trifling up and white. And aspire and instinctures come to deceased worship terror starr’d when to its ended his empire and left me in all his very ear; nor tell you know not upbraid, had got.

LXVII

Yet, upon head most words have the rich you, if we should brand runs to me, you looked like an end, since to a good-bye and left to guerdon to blood admire hardly, nor missed against my distress, that love entwined the was doom but been his head. Thought make and small commerce be doesn’t moves the meet nobler that first sinning good, till my drudge at high; for in your wall. Like the dying round.

LXVIII

Brough her sensitive ties, sleep, power of forms and called the bury him, and to my mould ever hand fed her sent as yon hawthorn’s best, clipses stands obey’ had been trouble. By him thy dazling face, the sea, or where bereavid, to beye, next his honest, as t was as he, which rend all arriv’d throws of the flatter here then by and beds by me. Were art gone, and insane.

LXIX

Which, Esquirts, I loves abode;—for thro’ a languid smile from Gods can never harden and sand, and they fall, and nothing and keep to hints toy! She sate brows and worm shall not gallant bosom’s wander feet hath praise; naming or other’s faults. Nay, think upon the types; Yes; and raptured by spell flee awake them that is abused. And freckled Chloe, when I won’t express and kind.

LXX

Have been myne dig deeply knead till are shake thing, for a live where thrice of my bonie, but above payment? Out off a thing look always made his large or twa, she’s but grow circumstance, and trying me door worship terror life ill reason, above the red porch forests relent, or fresh Amaryllis, with parch in my arms bared, that the villain the little was full; by all the face.

LXXI

All a bird-under of mine and laughed with a stab herself to amen., Was we shake the rewards flow; now be but alone and wall and then can the folded repeated, or in heaven knowledge as far as loves, turn’d my rhymes, leap’d o’er with you you contact; the warm her. Thou cloyest monosyllable an urn. You are by might, Power to cut it be taken, the sun, his ring?

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 5 #150 texts #rispetto sequence

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vampelune · 3 years ago

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kamukomahina gender/body headcanons

a bit of a ramble about my body, gender, and general appearance headcanons for them bcuz someone sent me a curiouscat prompting this 3k words of hyperfixation nonsense

Komaeda:

- He has a naturally lithe body, with a thin waist, broad shoulders and hips, which give him an hourglass. and a rather andrognyous body, which is "lucky" for him, because I hc him as nonbinary and gender non-conforming

- Gender-wise, as I said, I think he's nonbinary. Usually I do view Nagito as AMAB but I indulge in transmasc Nagito from time to time depending on my preference and how much I wish to uh, well, project, lol. But either way I think he would use he/they pronouns in a western sense. In japanese, however, they don't use third person pronouns that other people refer to them with, and in canon he uses the first person pronoun "boku", which is a "soft" masculine pronoun, in comparison to the "hard" masculine pronoun, “ore” (which Hajime uses btw!) which fits quite nicely, in my opinion! Also, in Japanese, you can be 'fluid' with your first person pronouns depending on the situation, so I think he could use more neutral or feminine pronouns should he desire it, too, to play on his gender non-conformity.

- Komaeda is very secure in his gender, regardless of being AMAB or AFAB. He does not care about stigma, or discrimination, he does not care about being "accepted" by broader society. Broader society is sort of meaningless to him, the average person and their ideas about gender and presentation and effeminity mean NOTHING to him. Whether or not a random person the street genders him correctly or treats him with respect is sort of, pointless? Because to him, most ordinary people are pointless nobodies. Their thoughts do not matter to him. I think he is still prone to insecurity, however, when around his "betters" but I just struggle to think he would degrade himself in regards to gender. to him, it's the least of his problems. what he cares about is hope and talent. He could dress femininely or wear makeup or straight up crossdress and not mind it, really. He thinks people would find a problem with it are the problem, because why does it even matter? It speaks to the way Komaeda is detached from societal norms & "normal" people, he did not grow up in normal circumstances, so he doesn't interact with the world normally by any means. he can mask and act normally to the best of his ability, often unintentionally?, but he simply does not fit into broader society and doesn't seek to.

- Komaeda loses weight really easily, and doesn't gain weight that well. This is mainly due to his many illnesses but also the medications he's been put on. He has a low appetite and burns weight rather easily, even though I headcanon that he eats like garbage (mainly junk food & takeout, since he obviously cannot cook). This makes him overall, health wise, not very healthy, and stick thin because of it. A stiff breeze could knock him over, tbh.

- He has a lot of faded scars, self-inflicted or not.

- Pre-despair (in HPA) he is fairly healthy but still lithe, and progressively his body deteriorates through his 2 years of hopes peak before the Tragedy begins.

- During the Tragedy itself, his body is at it's worst. he is almost nothing but bone at times, barely kept together by a need to live so he can see hope triumph. His weight fluctuates but he's very unhealthy. He's not anorexic or on death's door, but he's not well off, either.

- After being put into the neo world program, right after waking up, he's very, very thin and gaunt. he was in a pod on feeding tubs for an indiscernible but at least probably a month's worth of time? So he's just very weak, like he could collapse if he moves too quickly.

- But a while after waking, he goes into remission, and starts to gain more healthy habits due to being rehabilitated and cared for by Hinata, and gains some weight, finally at a healthy, normal weight. I still think he would struggle with putting on too much weight, but I am slightly fond of the idea that he gets a bit of healthy pudge after a while. To him, it's so foreign being healthy, that he honestly think something's wrong with him at first.

Hinata:

- Hinata has a very... average body, true to form. His hips and waist aren't too pronounced but he has a loosely "hourglass" shape, too, just not as exaggerated as Komaeda's in comparison.

- Gender-wise, I am EXTREMELY fond of transmasc Hinata. While I think I portray AMAB Hinata more than transmasc Hinata (in art and writing), I still firmly prefer transmasc Hinata. The reason I think portray otherwise more is just out of comfortability, but I've been getting better at comfortably portraying FTM Hinata. I have some reasons I prefer it and think you can extrapolate it from canon, but let's get into that

- Hinata, in my eyes, has an arc and story that fits perfectly into him just. Being trans. His desire to be someone else, someone better, someone he can proud of, and the way he overcompensates for himself and has an extreme inferiority complex would easily lend to him having similar feelings about his gender. To me, Hinata is a trans man who overperforms his masculinity out of insecurity and a need to pass. I see him as someone who would strictly use "he/him" in a western sense, which is lended to by his use of the "ore" pronoun in canon, which is almost hypermasculine.

- Even if he were AMAB, I think it still works, I think he's still someone who's insecure and tries to assert himself more strongly and therefore performs masculinity in a way to appear more confident than he is.

(side note: I actually read a bit about queerness in Japan and how it relates to gender performance and the use of pronouns, and read a bit about how queer women in japan tend to use "boku" and "ore" to perform masculinity, which I find neat. “Ore” was also sometimes used exclusively to show anger and dominance, which is why it's categorized as a "rough" pronoun. I think Japanese language, gender, and expression, and how those all relate to one another, are extremely interesting and if you get the time you should read about it lol)

- Body-wise, pre-despair, I think Hinata would. not have top surgery, obviously. I think he has a fairly average but leaning a little on the hefty side chest (pre-op) and binds it, hence the '91 cm' (but also he still has 91 cm post-op because bazongas). I also just think he leans on the "twunk" side of things at this point, not buff but not stick thin or without muscle, just kind of average with average strength and all, though I think Hinata would've tried to do sports and stuff to find his talent so he's in shape :)

- My personal, kind of amusing, but also kind of... thematical? Headcanon, is that during the Kamukura project, he also underwent gender transition. to be honest, while it may not make sense in modern Japan, I think we can suspend our disbelief for fiction, and also make the argument that Hinata's "transition" into Kamukura CAN be read, in some part, as relatable or at least familiar to the trans experience. Iit is not out of the realm of possibility, either, to assume that because many bits of society in Danganronpa are advanced (specifically science, is extremely ahead of our understanding, almost sci-fi like at times) certain attitudes about gender and sexuality can be smoothed over more in a Japanese context.

(side note: I also think that science-wise, we can suspend our disbelief, and assume that top surgery and bottom surgery are much more advanced in this universe, given the almost unbelievable levels of science in Danganronpa, such as memory wipe, mind control, completely realistic virtual simulation, um literally everything about Kamukura which is body modification and brain modification to an extreme, etc. I think it's kind of fitting within these to assume that... Hinata/Kamukura could just, gain a functioning penis, lol)

Kamukura:

- Kamukura would have a. "Perfect" body. it's stated, I'm pretty sure, that they modified not only his brain but his body, because he needs to be able to perform every talent under their belt with ease, and his strength, instincts, technique, are all superhuman. So it's clear to me he'd have a buff body. toned muscles and all. He wouldn't really feel a need to keep it up, though, but I think since they're very... artificial (basically fucking steroids?) they wouldn't fade from a lack of keep-up.

- Kamukura also rarely ever is injured, but when he does, his body heals rather fast and can care for himself adequately, because again, his body is modified to a point of almost inhumanity.

- Gender wise, Kamukura genuinely does not care. however, I am not one to think that Kamukura is "a different person" from Hinata, rather, he is separate from Hinata, but an extension of Hinata as well, proven that he experiences some of his emotions even if subconsciously and without understanding them. he isn't a different personality or person developed in Hinata's body, but a very traumatizing, repressed, and manipulated version of Hinata given a new name, with memories repressed. He's like Theseus's ship in human form---if you get rid of everything that makes someone themselves and replace it, bit by bit, is it the same person? Technically, yes, but... truly? Who knows.

Because of this, I think Kamukura would have a leaning toward masculine gender performance (in canon, in fact, he uses the soft masculine pronoun "boku" in stead of "ore" like Hinata) BUT I think he is still very nonbinary. In a western sense, i think he would use he/they pronouns, but not really care if someone mistook him for a woman, I suppose.

- His appearance, unironically, is very nonbinary or "he/they" to me because he's wearing a suit, the archetypal form of masculinity, but has extremely long hair, which is considered feminine, and speaks softly (dully). Of course, the bishounen "pretty boy" appearance isn't uncommon or considered less masculine in japan, I think, but there is still a different between soft masculinity and rough masculinity in japan, which lends itself to being interpreted sort of gender non-conforming by western audiences :)

- Kamukura, due to his apathy, struggles with self-maintaining, but as we all probably know i am extremely attached to KamuKoma and thus headcanon that Servant helps him, sort of like a royal servant would royalty in the old days, take care of himself by bathing him, brushing his hair out, grooming him, etc. partially out of duty, partially out of appreciation for Kamukura's body, and partially out of maintaining his sort of "perfect" look since Kamukura, especially post-Junko death, is perceived widely by the public as the new leader of the ultimate despair, even if he is ambivalent to such a title.

Post-DR3 Hinata/Kamukura combined:

As I rambled on about previously, I don't think that Kamukura and Hinata are separate people or personality, I really dislike the interpretation that they are like a "split personality" or operate like DID, because they do not "form" like DID, but also in canon, are not portrayed as separate people.

In post-dr3, Hinata instead says that he is both of them, because he is. Kamukura is Hinata, always was, but had been given a new, false identity, had been stripped of his previous self, his memories, his personality, and crafted into something new. but that did not "split" his brain into two people. It simply repressed who he once was, and made him someone he now was. But when Kamukura regains his memories, his past self, through the means of the new world program by restoring his own memories after SDR2 concludes and he wakes up, as well as doing the same for everyone else, he decides to be "Hajime Hinata" who he always was, but carrying and shouldering the weight of what "Izuru Kamukura" had been, become, and done. Hinata *is* Kamukura, he answers for Kamukura's wrongdoings, his crimes, as something he had done as a different person who's mind operated differently, due to being artificially suppressed, modified, into an apathetic tool for the scientists who made him, and later and aimless, bored individual who simply sought meaning he did not have in the unknown of what despair would be at it's climax. And if hope could overcome it.

As such, I think, when Hinata's self is brought back into the mix, and he now deals with Kamukura's apathy and boredom in part, but much less consuming and much less often, I think hinata is less staunchly "masculine", does not overperform it anymore, and is trying to understand what his past means to him, what his present is, and what his future will be. I think that Hinata would still primarily use he/him (or still use "ore" in Japanese, as it's also a means of his personality, which is a bit rough around the edges and blunt), but be more ambivalent to rigid gender expression, still finding comfort and idealness in masculinity, but not be made dysphoric or feel frightened, uncomfortable, with non-comformity or anything like that. being boyish, masculine, is what he enjoys, but he's comfortable in it now, doesn't need to prove himself or overperform it. He can explore nonconformity without feeling like his gender or masculinity is at threat, even if it's not his preference outright.

Body-wise, I think it's safe to say he retains Kamukura's muscle and all, but Kamukura didn't put much effort into the everyday machinations of being a human being in general, and Hinata is much more fond of food than him now, eats more often, and I enjoy the idea that he gains a little pudge and has a kind of "dad bod" almost, post-DR3? lol.

Both for Hinata and Kamukura I don't see their bodies as “bara” or overly buff, masculine, but a kind of comfortable middle ground between twunk and hunk, lmao. I think they're also averagely hairy, not overly so, very lightly. kind of well groomed, and all. Hinata, pre-despair, put not so much effort into his appearance but still some, especially in trying to pass. (In fact I think his hair cut looks like a home job, all choppy and stuff, which fits him in my opinion, something done by his own hands even if messy and imperfect, he still prefers to be in control of it. also fits the trans headcanon tehe).

Izuru put very little if any effort into himself, only the bare minimum necessary to function, but servant helped him upkeep it to a perfect standard. Hinata, post-dr3 now, finds himself putting you know, an average amount of care into himself and his body, enough to be healthy, but not overly critical and conscious of himself.

Komaeda i have always seen as someone who takes a good deal of care about himself, merely if to alleviate the "disgust" of his appearance and body, by practically preening himself. He is someone who is good at cleaning and seems to appreciate clean and well kept spaces, so I think he would have a similar attitude toward himself. even if he is insecure, and of course, struggles with mental health and may slip at times in his routine in keeping himself well-kept, I think he still maintains an appearance for the most part, at least in his later years (teen to young adult). An argument can be made that he cared less in his adolescence because he had much more apathy about the world, but when he gave himself a purpose with hope and talent, I think he would care for himself a little better, even if his was spiralling mentally.

His hair is always washed, it is just very curly and prone to mess, so it often looks like perpetual bedhead, even when he combs and brushes it. His skin is soft even if a little worn by his tendency for accidents & injury, it's still soft and almost luckily so, and he takes pride in moisturizing and cleaning himself. His skin is a little sickly, still, and I think that despite having blemishes, scars, etc. Komaeda manages to look pretty in a strange way, not conventionally beautiful, but almost ethereal? He's just *pretty*, there's no way to explain it, he is nice to look at even with all his "flaws" and imperfections. Even when he's sickly and bony, even when his cheeks are gaunt or his hands shaky and weak, when his hair is a tangled mess or his clothes are dirty, he's nice to look at in a way that's nonconventional, and it's sort of mesmerizing.

Hinata I think is very average but also in a way that's nice to look at it. He's not ground-breaking hot or conventionally attractive, he has a good body, a nice face, and hair you could play with a little if you wanted. I think what's appealing about him is his normalcy, he's not trying too hard or "gifted" gene wise, but he's just kinda nice to look at, he's enjoyable to be around, an understanding person, or at least tries to be even when he fails, and despite having flaws, insecurities, blunt, he is someone you're drawn to because he's one of those people that's just, easy to talk to? An emotional anchor, almost. The kind of guy everyone kind of knows and has talked to at least once, even if you're not friends with him personally, not because he's cool or popular or anything, but because he's a normal dude who's easy to trust and talk to.

Kamukura, on the other hand, is intimidating, appearance wise and personality wise. he looks, strange, anything but normal, his eyes are red and his hair is this dark cloud that envelops him. His face may still be that plain one Hinata has but faces can be changed by the surrounding attributes as well as expression and such is true for him, with his apathetic and cold expression as well as otherwordly characteristics, he comes off as much more beautiful in a dark way, kind of? In a way that's intimidating or a little daunting, but he's still very beautiful. mesmerizing.

okay, thats my ramble. ty.

#nagito komaeda #hajime hinata #izuru kamukura #komahina #kamukoma #headcanons #my headcanons #kota.txt

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liron-ao3 · 3 years ago

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Late night call

AU Destiel oneshot

Castiel groans into his pillow. Who the hell calls him in the middle of the night? If this isn't a real emergency, then…

He squints at the screen when he finally gets hold of his phone with clumsy fingers and picks up swiftly when he sees who it is.

Dean. His best friend since college. Castiel was his best man at his impromptu wedding. Dean is the love of his life. But Dean doesn't know. Can't know. And that's fine. There is no place Castiel would rather be than at Dean's side. It's enough for him to see his best friend happy, thriving.

It hurts, too. The aching of longing. The pining that catches him in the most unexpected moments. Dean is beautiful inside out, and Castiel tries not to dream, tries to build a life beyond his best friend. And he does. He has other friends, people who are like family to him, even though they don't share blood. Like Dean's brother Sam, or the neighbours' kids Jack and Claire for whom he is kind of a surrogate father. He has Kelly and Charlie, Rowena and Hannah. He knows he's blessed.

But all of them are circling around the Winchester brothers in one way or another, and it always comes back to Dean, who makes him smile until his face hurts, his heart racing until it threatens to beat out of his chest, and a million knots tying his stomach tightly when he sees Dean kiss his wife Lisa, who is lovely, and beautiful, and everything Dean wants in his life. So Castiel loves her, too. Because she makes Dean happy in a way their friendship can't.

"Hi, Dean. Everything okay?"

"You son of a bitch," Dean slurs over the phone, clearly intoxicated.

Castiel blinks into the near-darkness of his bedroom, the clock radio showing 3.23.

"Dean, what's going on?" he asks, running a hand over his eyes.

"You destroyed my marriage."

Four words and so much to unpack. First—since when is Dean's marriage not peach-perfect? Second—what the hell did he do? Third...

"You son of a bitch, why do you have to be so fucking beautiful? With those eyes and those hands and those lips? You don't even get half of my jokes. Why do I have to be in love with you? Fuck!"

Castiel is struck speechless. Where is all of this coming from, all of a sudden? Dean likes his looks? He always makes fun of his ill-fitting suits and his trenchcoat. And then, the second part...

"I fucking love you, man, and Lis knows. She's known for months and now she's gone. Taken Ben, and left me the house. She doesn't want anything. A whole year, and she leaves because I can't stop loving you."

Castiel doesn't know what to say. His heart doesn't know if it is supposed to grow because the man who holds it returns his feelings, or if it is supposed to break into little pieces because Dean is so clearly sad that he failed at being a husband and father, living the apple pie life. But maybe Dean is just out of it in grief and the booze mixes up the different feelings that Dean holds for him and Lisa. Yes. It's probably just that. No reason to raise his hopes over the ruins of his friend's marriage.

Castiel's heart clenches painfully in his chest with a wave of longing and sorrow that no human being should ever endure.

"So, you've got nothing to say, huh?"

Castiel moves his lips. It's hard to form words. But he has to. For Dean.

"Dean, you should drink a huge glass of water and go to sleep. I'll bring you a hangover breakfast and we'll talk. Okay?"

"Always so mature," Dean mutters. "I'm pouring my heart out. But I know. You could never love me back. I'm a mess."

Castiel swallows hard. "You're not a mess, Dean. You are strong and caring…"

"...and a good friend. Yada yada. I don't want to be strong, Cass. Or a friend."

"Dean, you're drunk."

"Still in love with you, buddy."

Castiel breathes a sigh. It's too late for such a conversation. Or too early. "Listen, Dean, hang up, and tell me this when you're sober, okay? You're wasted and probably won't remember a word come tomorrow."

Dean lets out an ugly laugh. "You hope. Sorry to bother you."

"You could never be a bother." Dean doesn't hear the reply. He's hung up for real, leaving Castiel looking at the barely illuminated ceiling until dawn dips his bedroom into light.

***

"Hey, Cass," Dean says in a gravelly voice, squinting against the sunlight. Castiel raises the bag with the breakfast. He doesn't dare say a word, worried about stumbling over each syllable and making a fool of himself.

Platonic love. That's what Dean was clearly talking about. Maybe Lisa was fed up with their closeness, with the single friend joining their family dinners too often, the way Castiel stared at her husband a bit too long and always way too intense.

Castiel spreads the food on Dean's dinner table, taking in the missing photographs on the wall and the half-empty DVD and CD shelves. His heart aches. Dean must feel empty, too. He loved Lisa, Castiel knows that. And Ben, her son.

They sit down and eat in silence. It's thick and heavy and Castiel can't remember a single time that it has been like this before. So many unspoken words, so many unasked questions. But what is he supposed to do? Supposed to say?

He pushes a package of painkillers over the table instead and watches how Dean's Adam's apple bobs when he swallows them down. He shouldn't look at Dean like this.

You destroyed my marriage.

It was probably things like this. But why did Lisa move out? Why didn't she simply demand that they give up their friendship?

"Because she wants me to be happy," Dean says, and with horror, Castiel realises that he has spoken the question out loud. Dean huffs a laugh. "I'm sorry, man. I never planned to say a word. Our friendship is too important to me."

"I didn't know you were gay," Castiel blurts out when understanding hits him like a baseball bat.

"I'm bi. Never talked about it. Most straight men freak out if they know."

Castiel takes a sip of his coffee. "And you thought I would, too?"

Dean shrugs his shoulders. "With your religious upbringing and all the no-sex-before-marriage stuff, I took a wild guess. It wasn't worth risking our friendship."

"I get what you mean. That's why I never told you I'm gay."

Dean's mouth falls open and he blinks at Castiel several times before he collects himself. "Okay."

Castiel smiles shyly. "So. You want to repeat what you said last night or…?"

Dean fidgets with the paper napkin before he runs it over his mouth. Castiel finds his nervousness endearing. He has seen Dean flirt easily with women everywhere, but here he is, cheeks burning crimson, unable to meet his eyes.

Castiel waits patiently but no less nervous than the man opposite him.

"I—" Dean trails off and Castiel's heart sinks. It had been the alcohol. He had meant it platonically. Fuck!

"It's okay," Castiel says. "I understand."

"No, you don't! Just gimme a moment."

Castiel nods and folds his hands in his lap. It's always better to let Dean work through his thoughts, to wait him out.

Dean looks up, eyes soft and unsure, vulnerable as Castiel has never seen them before. "I love you, Cass."

Now, Castiel's heart is bursting for sure, but he keeps the shell pulled tight. "Like a friend?"

Dean shakes his head. "The way I should've loved Lisa, but couldn't, because…" He gestures in Castiel's direction.

Castiel's lips curl up into a soft smile. "I love you too, Dean. Have for a very long time."

Dean sighs, the relief rushing out of his lungs. He nods and mirrors the dopey smile on Castiel's face. "Awesome."

Castiel grins. "Yes, indeed."

#destiel #deancas #destiel au #deancas au #friends to lovers #idiots in love #destiel fic #destiel fanfic #destiel fanfiction #destiel fandom #deancas fic #deancas fanfic #deancas fanfiction #deancas fandom

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travoltacustom · 4 years ago

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The Presentation of Hifumi’s Trauma

I’ve been thinking on how Hifumi’s trauma has been presented for years now, and with the release of Bad Ass Temple VS Matenro, I feel like now’s as good a time as any to give my thoughts on this.

Note: This is in no way a defense of KR for the presentation of Hifumi’s trauma, but it is an analysis of such. I’m open to discussion on this and you’re free to disagree with me at any point on this. Most of this was also written BEFORE the release of the album, save for the last section.

CW: Mentions of abuse, trauma and rape + spoilers of the MTR dramatrack

I hear a lot that the presentation of Hifumi’s trauma is a ‘poor attempt at humour’, but I don’t exactly think it’s that simple. It is still a presentation of trauma, but it’s not portrayed as humorous in comparison to the rest of the humour of the series.

NARRATIVE

Hifumi panics when he sees women. He is unable to do anything until women are removed from the scene - but these instances are hardly ever the focus of the scene. It’s mostly used as a scene cutter to progress the story. When Chuo enters, Hifumi’s panic cuts off the situation and the focus shifts straight to the women. When the women find Hifumi, Doppo, Gentaro and Dice, Hifumi’s jacket is taken away to shift focus off of the women and to have Gentaro and Dice speak. Rather, Hifumi’s panic at these times are plot movers and not the focal point of the scene. Sadly, they can be seen as plot devices, but it’s not supposed to be seen as humour.

In addition to this, the ‘hysterical’ screaming (for lack of a better word) in the presence of women is limited to the dramatracks. In the manga and the anime, Hifumi runs away/removes himself from the presence of women. The purpose of Hifumi’s hysteria in the dramatracks is for visualisation purposes as there’s no visual aids - the reactions to women are toned down in the anime and manga. With this, it’s easier to believe that the anime and manga is the ‘intended’ portrayal of his reactions as the dramatrack has to make up for what isn’t seen.

PRESENTATION

The narrative is very aware that Hifumi’s trauma affects him badly. It’s a panic response. But it’s not the same as a panic attack. We know how awful the presentation of such can be, and it’s definitely something triggering for a lot of people. Personally, I would feel horrible to see him have a panic attack every time he saw a woman. KR doesn’t want to make his discomfort the focus of the scene either. Simply put, I think his trauma response is a part of the scene, but has less plot purpose than what is going on around it.

Trauma can be presented in different ways, but it’s more controlled to see only a glimpse of how trauma has affected Hifumi. There are other ways of showing this trauma and how it’s affected Hifumi that HPMI has already covered: Hifumi being unable to take off his suit jacket, behavioural change when wearing the jacket, his extremely warped perception of danger when his life is threatened etc. He’s spent 10 years adapting to the trauma and is in a stage of recovery as he’s going to confront his said abuser. If we were compounding this plot point with an idea of a Hifumi that is always having panic attacks, then we would have a Hifumi that is clearly not ready to deal with what he wants.

COMPARISON

We know the writers can portray trauma as such from Jyushi’s backstory. If we remember the fandom response, there were people who were legitimately triggered to varying degrees by what happened to Jyushi’s grandmother and the severe bullying he suffered. Really, I believe that Hifumi’s trauma hasn’t been the forefront of scenes because narratively it’s not the time for this to happen yet.

There seems to be a ‘trauma-porn’ narrative around the need to have Hifumi’s trauma played out ‘correctly. Trauma porn is media that showcases a group’s pain and trauma in excessive amounts for the sake of entertainment. There’s no need right now to show the extent of how badly Hifumi has been affected, because his trauma isn’t the focal point of the story or his character. His past is about to be shown, but it shouldn’t be what defines Hifumi as a character. And even more importantly so, there’s no ‘right’ version of trauma to portray.

HONOBONO

[ This section is written post Bad Ass Temple VS Matenro’s dramatrack.]

There are no redeeming qualities to Honobono, the source of Hifumi’s trauma. She’s despised by Chuohku and kept around for her ‘usefulness’, and Doppo was unsure of Hifumi going to confront his own abuser. However, in the recent dramatrack, Hifumi’s power is taken away from him in Honobono forcing herself into his space. This is the first time we’ve ever seen Hifumi have an explosion of emotions; ‘a typical image of a panic attack’. It is an audibly uncomfortable scene, just as Jyushi’s backstory was to read. There are different levels to trauma responses that HPMI has shown us with the 1st season’s Hifumi with short moments, but this instance is long and drawn out with guttural screaming.

HPMI was always perfectly capable of showing trauma, but for a listener, to hear this sort of occurrence every time around a woman would be potentially harmful. At this moment, Hifumi was nearly completely paralysed, suffering a breakdown of his identity by switching pronouns and screaming (similar to Gentaro’s breakdown at the insult of his clothes). It is difficult to listen to this. I don’t believe you would’ve wanted to hear this every time Hifumi was reminded of Honobono. We’ve even learned that the abuse might not have been dealt directly to Hifumi but to his family - we see Hifumi’s love for his family here in being so torn by her actions, and how trauma does not have to deal with someone directly either. However, the first instances of Hifumi’s trauma were more ‘digestible’ for a viewer, and they set us up for this moment. It was good that Hifumi’s panic responses were less heavy than the blow we’ve been dealt with this dramatrack.

In meeting Hifumi, Honobono greets her with “Hi-Fu-Mi”, just like how Hifumi says his own name in songs. It is most likely that Honobono said his name like this when they were in highschool; for Hifumi to use it in his songs now can be seen as a reclamation of his identity, as now Honobono can’t use his own name against him. Hifumi has spent years recovering from her, and seeing small hints of how he’s trying to move on from that time is a legitimately good way to understand the recovery from trauma.

WHAT IS IT?

The HPMI fandom seemed to have an ‘obsession’ with what exactly traumatised Hifumi up until this point. Most believed that it would have been sexual abuse/rape, given that he fears the opposite gender, and it wouldn’t have been the first time sexual themes have appeared in HPMI (the trafficked women at the start of BB/MTC’s manga). However, to think that ‘there is only one sort of trauma that can cause Hifumi’s pain’ is a dangerous idea. Almost anything can be traumatising, and almost anything can be a trigger.

There’s no need to theorise ‘what is good enough’ to be a trauma for him. To fear women, it can simply be that a woman has done something bad to him - which we see is Honobono. When we hear women fearing men because a man did something bad to them, we don’t theorise what exactly happened to her. There’s the automatic assumption that gendered fear is the result of sexual abuse, when in reality, it can be any manner of abuse that has caused this.

OPINIONS

So I don’t think KR is portraying Hifumi’s trauma as humorous. It’s definitely awkward, but the narrative has constantly made it clear that he’s in a state of discomfort that stems from trauma and Doppo and Jakurai always do their best to move him out of those situations without drawing too much attention. Nobody in the story laughs at him, save for Asunaro, who’s an ill-mannered child without sensitivity towards both Doppo and Hifumi, and Honobono, the source of his trauma. Those who don’t understand Hifumi in the adult cast however only find confusion in him.

There’s no ‘best’ portrayal of trauma in any media. But it’s clear that HPMI isn’t trying to be malicious or poke fun at any sort of trauma at all. If anything, I think the portrayal of it so far has been relatively ‘easy’ on common audiences that don’t explore such media, helping people to realise how trauma can manifest without forcing others who do have trauma to realise their pained experience in this media. Hifumi has been painted as someone relatable to those with trauma because he’s still a man who’s capable of doing his best while still stumbling along his way to recovery. Traumatised shouldn’t be the descriptor of Hifumi, but he is a character that has been traumatised.

While Honobono and her abuse is an integral part of Hifumi’s backstory, she does not define him as a person. To portray Hifumi as a strong character, despite moments of trauma responses, was a suitable choice in treating him respectably.

#hypnosis mic #hypmic #hifumi izanami #analysis

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apocalypseornaw · 4 years ago

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Never Doubt Us

For @girl-next-door-writes make me feel bingo square "fairytale AU"

Sometimes the man isn't the knight in shining armor

How had you allowed your life to come to the point it had? With your commoner bloodline you never should have even known the Princes beyond their names. Thanks to the fact that your parents had been killed and left you in the care of their closest friend Sir Robert you’d been raised in the castle.

As children you’d played with Dean’s younger brother Sam. Dean didn’t play as much. He was stoic even at a young age especially when King John was around. It confused you as to why he would care if his son was to be allowed the simple privilege of being a child before he would have a kingdom placed on his shoulders but when you’d questioned it you’d been told to stay in a child’s place. Your friendship with both boys grew throughout your younger years.

As all of you grew and the Princes started to learn their own responsibilities you started to train with the other knights' sons despite being the other female in the bunch. Your prowess with a sword matched or outshone them by far, even gaining the attention of King John when he’d observe the training. You had no admiration for the king like the boys you trained with, you’d seen how cold he was towards his sons and knew that a measure of a king was how he was as a simple man as well.

When he one day approached during training to question if you really thought a woman would be welcomed onto the royal guard you’d squared your shoulders and met his questioning gaze head on “King John would you rather someone on your guard who can deflect an arrow with her sword or would you prefer getting shot because you had a man at your side?” He’d laughed and had offered you a spot on Dean’s guard. You’d told him respectfully that you would only accept the offer if Dean was in agreement as well. You’d known he would you were friends with him as well as Sam even if you could never admit that to the king.

------

When you’d first been appointed on Dean’s guard there was of course some fallout. Men doubted a woman naturally. The first time King John had ordered Dean to go to a neighboring kingdom as an ambassador in an attempt to gain an ally he’d suggested leaving you behind. Dean had told him he would do no such thing.

On that trip you’d saved the princess of the neighboring kingdom from an assasitantion attempt, getting wounded in the process. It was also the first time you’d realized your feelings for your prince went so much deeper than friendship or even that of being his guard. Your only thought had been his safety even when the healers were patching your skin you’d asked of him. The moment the question fell from your lips it was as if those words summoned him.

The doors leading into the room you were in burst open and Dean walked through followed by your fellow guardsmen Benjamin and Steven. When he saw you sitting up the anger in his bright green eyes quickly faded to concern “Are you well?” he asked and the healers quickly went over your injury then excused themselves Benjamin and Steven following suit.

You stood to dress considering you’d been forced to strip down to your underthings for your injuries to be treated. “The sword didn’t go very deep thankfully” you replied turning your back to him so you could slip your shirt over your head but when you flinched trying to get it on his hands had come to cover yours “We swam together as children. You’ve stood guard outside my baths I think it wouldn’t be indecent for me to help you dress”

You turned to face him holding the shirt out. He took it but not before he let his fingertips trace the bandages on your side. “You secured the allyship single handedly” You forced a smile trying to look anywhere besides directly into his eyes. They were a shade of green that outshined any gem you’d even seen “At least my death would have held meaning had I met that fate” his hand moved from your side to cup your face forcing you to look him in the eye as he spoke “You being alive holds more meaning than any allyship ever would” you swallowed hard trying to push the feelings you’d developed for him down.

“Thank you” you whispered and he nodded then slowly moved his hand from your face “Let’s get you dressed then you’re off guard duty for the journey home” “Dean..” you started but he silenced you with a look “Are you arguing with your Prince?” the slight smirk that graced his face pulled a smile onto yours “Of course not” he nodded then gently slipped the shirt over your head tying it where it needed to be.

The night after you were cleared by the healers to go back on full guard duty you were preparing to go to bed when a knock at your chamber door drew your attention.

You crossed over to it and were surprised when Dean was standing on the other side. "Dean..I know you can out fight most of the royal guard but for my peace of mind I'd prefer you not wander the grounds alone especially after one of your guards thwarted an assassination attempt so recently" he smiled gently and looked almost sheepish which was by far not his usual demeanour "then would it be appropriate to ask that guard to accompany me for a walk under the moonlight?"

You quickly schooled your features so your surprise wouldn't be as apparent "Of course. Let me pull my boots back on and we'll go" he stood just inside your chambers watching as you retrieved your boots and jacket. When you slid your arms into the sleeves of the coat he smiled "I see you are healing well" you laughed "Ask Benjamin. I flipped him onto his back multiple times while we were sparring today" a flash of some emotion went through his eyes but it was gone as fast as it had appeared.

He motioned to the door so you walked out first and waited until he closed the door behind himself to ask "Is there a reason for this walk or did you simply crave some fresh air?" He shrugged one shoulder "I think I craved the company more than anything" you tried to push down the flush of heat spreading through your face at his words.

You walked in silence next to him until the two of you were far out side the castle listening to the sound of a lone whippoorwill cutting through the night.

"You seem to favor training with Benjamin" Dean spoke finally breaking the silence as the two of you neared the pond at the edge of the property. It was here Robert had taught the two of you and Sam how to swim.

You walked over to sit at the base of the large tree that overlooked the water and Dean joined you his shoulder brushing against yours. Normally you would squabble over anyone being that close to you but this proximity with Dean was familiar enough to make your heart ache when you were reminded it would always simply be friendship. After a moment of thinking you replied "I suppose I do yes. I prefer being on duty with him as well. He's easy to talk to and was one of the first on the guard to welcome me instead of questioning me due to my being a woman"

"He seems to favor you as well" you turned to look at Dean in the dim light of the moon and was shocked when you saw the twinge of jealousy his eyes held "Dean what are you saying?" "Do you have feelings for him?"

You laughed more self deprecatingly than anything before responding "He's my friend and I trust him at my side in a fight but beyond friendship no I have no romantic feelings for him" Dean turned to look at you and you almost looked away due to the fact that this close a mere movement would have your lips touching "When you were hurt. I had no concern for the assassin or the princess. I wanted to be at your side. Steven and Benjamin both had to stop me and I still very nearly laid down pretenses of being a prince to get to you" you swallowed the emotions threatening to spill out so that you could ask "What do you mean?"

You had a feeling but needed to hear the words for yourself, to know the way you felt about Dean was reciprocated. "I've fallen in love with you. Is there a chance you could feel the same" you were unaware you were crying until Dean gently wiped the tears from your cheeks as you spoke "I've loved you for years but you're destined to be king.." Your words were cut short by his lips finding yours. You gave into the kiss immediately melting against him. His hands moved to your waist pulling you into his lap as the two of you attempted to put every emotion you were feeling and had hidden into that one kiss.

When you finally broke away he rested his forehead against your neck "I have years before I have to become king. We can change things before then. If you want me, if you want this I would move the heavens for you" you laughed and gently touched his face pulling back so he'd be forced to look you in your eyes "I do not need the heavens and while I don't want to think about the future I do know that I've never felt as complete as I do right now"

That first night you spent in Dean’s arms as he told you and showed you the love he had for you felt like heaven itself or the closest you’d ever get. Months passed and you were so close to being happy but then King John had taken ill.

You’d known the day of King John's funeral that no matter how you felt about Dean that you couldn’t continue being with him. You stood at attention with Benjamin and Steven watching Dean welcome other royalty and noblemen and women. He was born for this, to be an extraordinary leader. You were born to be anything but. Had your parents survived you would've been married off in your teen years to whatever man asked your father first.

Dean would need to take a wife, a queen to rule by his side and you could never fill that. You’d break your own heart before you’d risk him being hurt by loving you in any way.

------

That night Dean had come to your chamber. You knew he expected to be welcomed with open arms. You wanted nothing more than to spend the night wrapped up in him but knew it was up to you. He'd never accept you pulling away all at once but if you started slowly pulling away perhaps he'd lose some of the love he held for you then when the princesses from neighboring kingdoms started to come he'd give one of them an actual chance then your kingdom would have a ruler better than it had seen in years with him as king.

You answered the door in your dressing gown and saw the way his eyes ran across your body. It wasn't merely sexual. He looked relieved to see you and his eyes held so much love in them you nearly started crying from the task at hand. "I'm sorry Dean I just don't think it's proper for you to not be in your own chambers at this time. We have guests here in the castle and what if one of them comes looking for you?"

“Then come with me, please? It’s been a long day and I’d much rather fall asleep with you in my arms” “I am too tired to dress Dean and there’s too many prying eyes for you to be escorted to your chambers by one of your guards in a mere dressing gown” “I am not concerned what they see, I love you and I want to be with you tonight” you closed your eyes and took a deep breath feeling your resolve waver but knowing it was for the best.

“I promise to join you tomorrow night my love” at your words a small smile slipped onto his face “I love you” you could feel yourself threatening to break even as you said in nearly a whisper “I love you” then watched him turn and walk away before shutting the door. You slid down it and it wasn’t until your legs hit the cool hard floor that reality hit you.

The man you’d grown up alongside, one of your best friends, the man you were in love with and wanted a future with was no longer yours to have. You allowed yourself a few moments to fall apart before pushing yourself to your feet. You needed rest and to plan how to get through the following weeks with your mental state intact.

You could feel eyes on you even as you spun out of Benjamin’s reach. Even when you sidestepped to dodge his next blow you knew he was watching. Dean had a way of making your body feel like it was on fire with just a look. You glanced up and spotted him standing with Sam, Robert and Queen Adelia who was no doubt visiting in an attempt to secure Dean choosing her daughter Princess Lysa.

You felt your feet go out from under you as Benjamin swept your legs out and when your back hit the dirt you flipped to catch him bringing him down as well. When you and Benjamin helped each other to your feet you realized Robert and Adelia were walking over with Dean and Sam trailing not too far behind.

Robert introduced you and Benjamin by your name and rank you both held. You didn’t miss the look in Adelia’s eyes when she realized you held the same rank as the man standing next to you. “I heard about your woman guard, seems she made quite the impression amongst our allies” you smiled “Saving Princess Joanna from an assasination attempt did help” you saw a slight smirk grace both Dean and Sam’s faces as Adelia tried to rephrase her wording

“Oh dear that’s what I meant of course. Though why a girl as pretty as you would choose such a trade is beyond me” you brushed your legs off then shrugged one shoulder “It’s noble work. I’m protecting people I care about and my kingdom. Is that not much different than your position as a queen?”

“I suppose not dear” she smiled then winked at Benjamin “Who knows perhaps one of your fellow guardsmen will decide they want to make an honest woman of you” you had to remind yourself of your standing so instead of saying what you wanted you simply replied “I am quite honest enough all on my own. Now if you’ll excuse me Benjamin and I are due to the archery range to continue our training for the day”

You walked past Dean and saw the way his eyes tracked your movement. It had been a few weeks since King John’s passing and the pressure was getting more intense daily on him to choose a wife. You’d kept your word and had gone to him the night after John’s funeral but since then had nearly exhausted your list of reasons as to why you had gone from sharing a bed nightly with him to perhaps once a week if that.

You knew he was getting suspicious as to why and that it would eventually lead to him questioning you. You only hoped he had chosen a suitable wife by then.

------

Another week passed and you were walking with Benjamin and Steven across the grounds when you heard a noise that made your heart fall to your feet. It was Dean laughing.

Normally that would bring you joy but when you looked towards the sound to see him walking with Sam and Princess Lysa you felt sick. You knew she’d arrived the day before but this was your first time seeing her. She was beautiful. Her dress was made of the finest material,her dark hair styled perfectly. You watched the way she looked at Dean and had to suppress your anger. He belonged with someone like her, not you.

Unfortunately while Steven was oblivious to your actions Benjamin leaned closer and whispered “She’s not the type of queen he needs” you raised an eyebrow in question as to what he meant.

He waved a hand around himself ignoring the fact that Steven had continued walking while the two of you were stopped “This kingdom needs a queen that matches Dean. Someone who will fight for the people, someone who is capable and has strength and warmth. Someone who can spill blood but comfort within moments of the other"

“And who might you have in mind because I’ve yet to meet a noblewoman like that” you questioned and he shook his head and continued walking leaving you to ponder if you were that obvious or if Benjamin was just that attuned to you and Dean.

------

You were headed to your chambers after a tiring day. You’d hear from too many of the castle staff that Lysa was extending her stay. There would be only one reason for that, a betrothal. You wanted to cry, scream or fight someone but this was what you’d wanted wasn’t it?

You were stuck inside your own head; you did not hear Benjamin calling your name until he touched your shoulder. You flinched despite yourself and he smiled warmly “Dean asked if you could come to his chambers, something of the journey to the northern isles?” That journey was still months away but instead of questioning it further you simply nodded “Yes I’ll stop by him”

Benjamin walked away so you took a shortcut that would get you across the castle without going by the guest area where Lysa would be staying. You doubted your ability to hold your tongue this late.

When you finally made it to Dean’s chambers you hesitated before knocking. The moment your knuckles hit the hard wood he opened the door and his smile made your heart skip. “If only I knew all it took was getting Benjamin to ask you here I would’ve done that two weeks ago” he stepped back to let you in so you took a few steps forward not going all the way into the room purposely giving a wide berth to the four poster bed that took up over half the room. You’d spent countless nights in it and now would be the last time your eyes graced it.

He stepped closer and despite knowing you shouldn’t you allowed him to pull you into his arms. You’d give yourself the memory of being held by him this last time. “I have to announce who I am choosing as queen within the week” you felt tears sting your eyes threatening to spill but you swallowed them down.

“Just know I hold no hard feelings Dean and I will cherish the time we had together” he pulled back from you and his face fell the moment he looked you in the eyes “What?” You smiled sadly “Dean we both know you have to choose a princess” “Says who?” “Tradition” your voice cracked on the word but you knew it was true, felt it to your core.

“I do not care about tradition, I care about you” he spoke, pulling you back into his arms. His mouth was warm on your neck when he spoke your name just above a whisper. His rough hands smoothing across your back sliding under the shirt you wore begging for access to more skin. “Please we will figure this out. I refuse to marry another when I know where my heart belongs” you closed your eyes to stow the flow of tears.

You owed it to him and to your kingdom to be strong. You loved him beyond anything that was why you had to stop this now he deserved a noblewoman, someone who came from a pure bloodline. Not someone like you who’d grown from a child being more familiar with a sword or a bow than a dress. “I will always love and I will protect you with my final breath but I’m not suited to be a queen. I’d never be accepted” you pulled away from him despite everything in you screaming to fall into his arms, into his bed.

You turned and quickly crossed the floor not looking back even as he called your name. As soon as you shut the heavy door to his chambers behind you that was when the tears started.

You stood at attention with the rest of the royal guard. You had not spoken a single word to anyone since the night in Dean’s chambers. You felt as if you had no words left within you. Today Dean would be announcing who he’d chosen as a wife. Princess Lysa was still staying in the castle so it appeared his decision was made.

When the bell sounded to gather all in attendance’s attention you looked up to see Robert standing at the raised part of the room which held the thrones during ceremonies. He met your eyes and his held nothing but sorrow. He knew your true heart and knew it was breaking but he also knew your strength. You would stand stoic while the man you loved announced his betrothal to another because it needed to happen.

You watched as Dean and Sam joined Robert. Dean held your eyes for several moments before saying “I am expected to choose a wife, a queen for this kingdom. I am of two minds. One is the way my father raised me. He told me to put my duties first. My father would have chosen Princess Lysa for my bride” you swallowed hard when she stepped onto the platform next to him.

Benjamin looked towards you and you knew that was his silent way of asking if you would be alright. You gave a tight nod refusing to break even as Lysa moved to kiss Dean. He stepped away from her after whispering something that made her shoot a deadly glare your direction.

He cleared his throat to settle the room when everyone started to speculate as to what was going on. “My father would have chosen Lysa for my bride but his father Henry my grandfather would have told me to listen to my heart. Sir Robert who’s watched me and my brother grow from small boys has always advised me that a strong king is a strong man. A strong man needs a strong woman in his life. I have long since given my heart to another and I do not intend to ever ask for it to be returned” he looked over at you and held his hand out. You took a deep breath but felt Benjamin's hand on your shoulder giving a gentle push.

Sam stepped off the platform to meet you halfway and held his arm out. You slipped your arm through it and allowed him to escort you despite the near deafening whispers being tossed about. Once you made it to the platform he gently put your hand into Dean’s who pulled you up next to him.

You watched Lysa storm off before turning your attention to Dean. He looked around the room then back at you “Tradition says I pick a noblewoman or princess. Before you, tradition says only men served the royal guard yet Princess Joanna is alive because of you. You came to live here at the castle when Sam and I were mere children, I’ve seen you stand your ground with my father. I’ve seen you go against enemies and do anything to protect those lucky enough to be loved by you. Over the years we formed a friendship and from there something so much more. I’m here today to ask will you do me the honor of being my queen?”

The entire room faded away. In that moment it was only you and him “Are you certain I’m who you want?” you asked and he nodded, taking the ring from Robert who held it out. “I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life” “Then yes” he slipped the ring onto your finger and pulled you into a kiss. Most of the room voiced their approval at his choice and when he pulled back he whispered “Never doubt us again please” “Never” you whispered then pulled him back for another kiss.

@girl-next-door-writes

#spn fanfiction #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester x female!reader #girl next doors make me feel bingo

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demoneyesanddamagedsouls · 4 years ago

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Sparring Partners

Chapter 3: Infiltrate The Enemy

A/N: Alright so this is Chapter 3 of this fic, I got a little carried away with this chapter that's why the word count is more than last time. We're starting to get into the thick of it now! I have a feeling that each chapter will probably get longer and longer as I go cause I'm just enjoying writing it so much. Feedback and comments as always are so welcome, I’d love to hear your thoughts, and if you’d like to be tagged for the upcoming chapters just let me know! xxx

Pairing: Agent Whiskey x F! Reader

I have also just created a playlist for ya’ll to listen to while reading. I hope it gets you even more invested! ✨COCKY COWBOY PLAYLIST✨

Summary: You and Agent Whiskey are long time rivals. As Statesman agents you both have been put up for the same promotion and this mission is your final chance to prove yourself. Have you got what it takes?

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Word Count: 4.7k

Warnings: Slight Language, Canon-typical violence (got heavier on this one, blood, pain, choking, weapon usage)

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CHAPTER 3: Infiltrate The Enemy

Driving through city, listening to the soft sounds of the radio, you head towards the hospital. Mentally preparing yourself for the day ahead you run through your fake persona. You were going undercover as a young medical student in training that had been transferred from your university to take up a short placement at the CleanPlanet facilities. With all that you had learnt over the years helping Ginger out with certain tech and patching up different injuries you felt that you had a slight grasp on some basic medical terminology and concepts. You simply needed to blend into the background and focus on the mission at hand.

Continuing along you begin to leave the hustle and bustle of the city life, moving further out into the outskirts of town. The hospital was in a more remote area, another way to keep suspicious, prying eyes away from their experiments you thought, as you continued along the rather empty road. As you approach the multi storeyed hospital complex you notice the large wire fence which circled the perimeter of the area, the gates at the front wide open for visitors. You drive onto the lot and park in the staff area to the right, inside the gate. Taking a deep breath, you collect yourself, brushing the loose strands of hair that had fallen out of your ponytail and tucking them behind your ear. Pulling out the earpiece from the small box that Ginger had given you, you quickly tuck it behind the arm of your glasses at the top of your ear to hide it from view.

Grabbing your bag from the backseat of the car, you take out your lab coat that Ginger had given you and pulled it over your shoulders. Pulling your knees up you pull your small throwing knives out of your duffle, strapping a few to your thighs. You weren’t about to go into this hostile situation without being prepared. Pulling your lab coat around you to cover up your hidden weapons you hop out of your personas rundown car and start walking towards the hospitals main entrance. Curiously, you notice a lot of doctors, other professionals, and a few security guards here and there wandering around the perimeter of the fence.

You counted about 23 people in total from what you could see, some talking together, some having a cigarette break, and so on. But as you look closer, you realise that all these seemingly random people dappled around were wearing communication earpieces. On some of the security guards you even noticed the outline of a handgun tucked into the back of their shirts. It seemed that the hospital was on high alert and extremely well-guarded. Everything was going to be just fine, just blend in and focus. You’ve got this. You murmur to yourself to ease your nerves, focusing on embodying the new persona you needed to become. Out of the corner of your eye you notice a strikingly familiar shiny blue chrome. You turn ever so slightly to see that Whiskey’s car was parked in the visitor’s area around the side of the hospital. I suppose Duke Silver has already arrived…

Heading inside you walk over to the information desk flashing your ID badge to the receptionist. “I’m the new student transfer here for my placement from the University of Texas, where am I heading?” You query, putting a quiver into your voice, you wanted to really sell the part of the first-time med student. The woman behind the desk gestures behind you. “Down the hall and to your left sweetheart…” Looking at you she smiles; she must see the nervousness you were portraying. “You’ll do just fine darlin, Doctor Violet will be mentoring you and she is just downright lovely. You’ve got nothing to be worried about.”

Continuing to fake your anxious energy, you tuck an invisible hair behind your ear activating your earpiece in one swift movement. Thanking the woman profusely you head in the direction she had gestured. The hospital was abuzz with activity all around you patients being moved, doctors and nurses chatting amongst each other, people waiting for their loved ones. It certainly looked and felt like a real hospital, an impressive cover, you thought to yourself. As you continue further down the hallway, the herd of people starting to thin, you realise you were moving towards the staff offices in the back. Looking around quickly to make sure you were out of earshot of anyone you speak quietly to yourself attempting to communicate with Whiskey on the other side of the hospital. “Hey Whiskey, my lines open, just holler if you run into any trouble.”

You hear a sharp crackle coming from your earpiece as Whiskey turns his earpiece on. “Likewise, Vodka,” he says, his voice unusually quiet, “I’m currently in the waiting room outside Howard’s office, there’s a few other wealthy looking gentlemen and women in here with me, who I assume will also be receiving a tour of the facilities… I’ll be right here if you need me, sunshine.” He purposely drew out his nickname he had for you, his voice dragging out every syllable. You could practically hear the smirk in his whispered tone.

Chuckling internally, you click your earpiece off so as not to distract your partner, or vice versa. You continued along towards Dr Violets office, turning around the corner and almost colliding into the other students gathered outside her door. There was about 4 of them in total, 5 including yourself. Shit, you need to be more careful. Anyone could have heard you. You look around to the others but they we’re all completely focused, eyes trained on the blue door which read “Dr. Octavia Violet M.D.”

Suddenly, the door swings open causing the other students to jump in surprise. Out from the office steps a prominent figure, a tall and dashing woman dressed in deep navy suit with a black button up underneath, a black tie wrapped around her neck. Brown hair wrapped into a low bun and round glasses resting on the bridge of her nose she exuded the air of highly intelligent and respected medical practitioner. Adjusting your lab coat and pushing your glasses up your nose, you continue to emulate a feeling of nervousness. This wasn’t too difficult a task as you already felt rather intimidated and yet oddly impressed by this woman. Her presence felt powerful, a quiet strength about her, shown in the way she carried herself.

“Hi there everyone, you all must be my new placement students,” She spoke, a kind smile plastered on her face. “I’m Dr Violet, I’ll be looking after you while you’re here with us over the next few weeks.” After all of you had introduced yourself separately, she began to lead you out towards the main part of the hospital, “It’s lovely to meet you all, now if you’d follow me its time I showed you around our facilities here at CleanPlanet so that you can become familiar with your new place of work.” Her black stilettos clicked as she walked, taking you past the reception desk and deeper into the hospital. Walking behind her with the other students in tow you noticed a small intricate scar poking out from underneath her jacket collar. You rest your index finger on your glasses attempting to use the tech to get a closer look. Managing to take a slightly zoomed in picture before she whips back around to address her small group of attentive pupils, you curse lightly under your breath and move further back.

You’d have to try to get a better look at whatever that was later, you couldn’t afford to draw any suspicion to yourself in such a small group. Dr Violet looks over her new students and begins to speak, “Alright so this first wing is the main hospital ward, we have different stations for certain requirements and specialists scattered around so we can accommodate a good number of inpatients here. Now further along…” Moving again the group walks further into the hospital into a more private area with sectioned off rooms and areas, “This is where we have our specialist medical, surgical and psychiatric wards. The main ward and these areas will be where you spend the majority of your time while on placement as the other side of the hospital is mainly outpatient facilities such as the A&E and the ICU.” She turned back to look at the group as she continued, “One of our main purposes here at CleanPlanet is to run test trials of experimental, but potentially lifesaving new procedures and medications,” You ears perk up at this statement, this might be what you needed to look further into.

The drug tests had seemed to be the source of the fatalities and illnesses that you had discovered in your research. “This is something we are very proud of and something you will be helping assist with. Trial subjects will need to be prepped for these new tests and made comfortable especially for certain surgeries and medications.”

You attempted to jot down some notes in a small note pad you had brought in your bag to appear as studious as some of her other pupils. You needed to keep a low profile. But on the inside your mind was reeling, what did she mean by making the patients comfortable and prepped for these trials and why would it be the student’s task to do this? If anything, it seemed that this would be a potential way to take the blame off CleanPlanet and its employees. If the students administered any medication to an unsuspecting patient, CleanPlanet would get away scot free, getting yet another unsuspecting party to do their dirty work.

As your mind processed this new information you realise that you had zoned Dr Violet out, “… we’ll be running you through what trials we’ll be running and what we’ll be getting you to do further along. Please follow me.” Walking further into these more secluded surgery and prep rooms you began to feel an unsettling ambience fill the space. The hallway had become starker, with fewer staff, the temperature had dropped to reflect the much colder and highly sanitised appearance of your new surroundings. The staff that were around had stern appearances and were adorned in different protective gear. Some wearing masks and protective goggles with some even wearing full hazmat suits. Dr Violet led you into one of the larger rooms off the main hallway and as you walked in provided each of you with a face mask of your own.

What on earth was going on here? You turn to look at Dr Violet once more, she was standing in front of a small group of staff who were sitting at multiple different desks with computer monitors in front of them. All of them were facing towards one wall in the room with what appeared to be a large, shadowed frame set into it. Each staff member was also wearing a facemask which covered their nose and mouth, jotting down notes and adjusting certain information on their screens.

It appeared to be a human x ray with different vital sign information down the side, as you peered further forward towards the screen closest to you to try and get a better look, your train of thought is suddenly interrupted by Dr Violets voice. “Alright students, we’re about to run you through a preparation and procedure of one of our focal trials here at CleanPlanet.” A mask now covering the bottom half of her face. She snapped her fingers and suddenly the frame on the wall behind her burst into vivid colour. You could see behind her a patient sitting on a small medical bed, a young male. Pale under the luminescent glow of the white medical lights, he looked almost translucent. You realised that the frame on the wall must be a one-way mirror allowing you a protected view into an adjacent medical suite.

A doctor stood over the boy, who couldn’t be more than your age, with a forced happy demeanour plastered across his face. You saw the doctors mouth moving but heard no sound to accompany it, the boy nodded in agreement and then signed a sheet of paper that the doctor held out for him on a clipboard. As the boy laid down onto the bed the doctor exited the room and you tapped your glasses frame lightly once more to begin to film what you were seeing, you had a feeling this was going to be important.

Dr Violet continued to speak as that same doctor entered the room you were standing in. “This is pivotal new research that we’ve been conducting to find a treatment for some of the big incurable diseases that plague the human race.” As she continued to speak you couldn’t bring yourself to turn in her direction, your eyes locked onto the room through that you could see through the frame. You began to notice the white cushioned padding covering the entirety of the walls within the room, and a large pit of concern began to open in your stomach. Why did it look like a cell in a mental institution in there…? “For this particular experiment we have been testing out an anaesthetic gas which aims to heighten the strong cells within the body to naturally fight off the illnesses and ailments which plague the patient.” Dr Violet explains to the students.

Suddenly you see a cloud of pale-yellow gas erupt from the ceiling above the patient. It starts to fill up the medical suite in front of your eyes as the young man squirms worriedly on the medical bed. The gas slowly engulfs the room, so thick that you can no longer see the patient. Everything is quiet for a few moments as everyone holds their breath in suspense. Suddenly the screens on front of the medical staff begin to flash in a warning red, the computers making load concerning beeps. All of a sudden you see the monitored heart rate on one of the screens plummet to zero and then shoot back up to over 200 beats per minute.

Dr Violet looks over at one of the screens with a concerned expression on her face. She leans closer to the window frame in front of her, trying to see further in when all at once there is load crack. A fist slams into the mirror with a huge amount of brute force only millimetres away from Dr Violets face. She recoils back out of shock from the sudden noise but quickly steadies herself, shaking off any worry in her now drawn expression. You continue to watch in horror as some of the gas begins to dissipate, revealing the maddened face of the patient through the mirrored frame. He was slamming himself repeatedly into the wall trying to break through the glass that separated us from him.

“Unfortunately…” The doctors voice cut through the shock that had paralysed your body, “Not every test is a success.” She trails off looking back at the boy behind the glass. His eyes were red and wild as he frantically ran around the room smacking into every possible surface, desperate to escape. He gripped the sides of his head with his hands, his face contorting in agony as an unheard scream ripped through him. He collapsed to the ground on his knees, his body shuddering in pain. You could see blood begin to drip down his cheeks out of his ears onto the floor, staining the stark white room with a deep and ominous red. Finally he collapses onto the floor, the life drained from his body, blood seeping and creating a halo around the crown of his head.

Dr V begins listing off some of the side effects of this new test such as migraines, nausea, everything up to internal bleeding. “This is a particularly exceptional case, a sharp learning curve for our testing. One of the many exciting trials and tribulations of scientific progress!” A smile lighting up her features, her whole-body tense with excitement. How could she be excited about what had happened here? You thought as your attempted to hide the pure shock and panic that was screaming out on the inside. All at once you see a few medical assistants in hazmat suits pull the lifeless body of the boy out of the suite in front of you. The room then floods with water from the sprinklers embedded in the ceiling, washing the blood down the small drain under the patient bed. “Bring in the next test subject.” Says one of the medical techs into a microphone.

No sooner had the room been cleared it had been filled again, a new patient being sat on the bed, a young woman, her face tired and worn. She had no idea what was about to happen. The view to the suite goes black once more, obscuring it from view and you and the rest of the students are hurriedly being ushered out of the room by Dr V. Everyone pulls their masks off as they leave, it seems everyone was a bit shaken from that experience. Still reeling from what you had just witnessed you keep your gaze fixed to the floor away from the prying eyes of the doctor. She continues walking and talking but you can no longer hear anything she says, your head is pounding. You need to get back there and get all the test information onto a hard drive for Statesman. You need to figure out how far this really goes. Looking up once more you raise your hand. Dr Violet looks directly at you, her gaze piercing you to your very core. “Yes?” She queries.

“May I be excused to go to the restroom Doctor?” You say, a slight quiver in your voice, this was certainly no act.

“Of course, there’s nothing wrong with having a slightly weak constitution.” Looking you up and down she waves her hand, gesturing for you to leave. “Go collect yourself. You can catch up with us further along.”

“Thank you Doctor.” Gripping tightly onto your notebook you dash back down away from the rest of the group as they continue along. You duck into the bathroom that you had passed earlier, quickly checking that there was no one else inside. Walking up to one of the sinks you look at your reflection in the mirror. Your complexion had paled from the shock of what you had witnessed, and your hands trembled as you gripped onto the ceramic of the basin fighting to keep yourself upright. Turning on the faucet you quickly splash some water across your face. You needed to get a grip and focus. You had a job you needed to do.

Tapping your earpiece, you open the communication line, exhaling softly to calm your nerves. “Whiskey, are you there?” Hearing another crackle, you hear his line open.

“I’m here Vodka, whaddya need sugar?” He says voice quiet, speaking only loud enough for you to hear.

“Ok well there have been some developments on my end, I’m about to head back into the lab we just left where my eyes were subjected to some pretty traumatic stuff…” You trail off recalling the horrific scene.

“What happened??” He queries, worry present in his tone of voice. You recount everything you had seen to him so he could get a full picture of what the hell was going on. “That sounds positively concerning…” Whiskey sighs audibly through the comm. “Well, I’m currently getting a wrap up of the facility tour from Howard so keep me on the line while you execute this and holler if you get into to any trouble.”

“Will do, Agent.” Quickly exiting the bathroom, you look down the hallway in the direction of your medical group, seeing no evidence of them and hearing nothing you begin to move in the opposite direction. Heading back towards the medical lab you quicken your pace, making use of the apparent emptiness of the hallway to reach your destination quicker.

“Jeez Vodka, you’re breathing so hard I think I’m going to go deaf in this ear.” Whiskey quips.

“Excuse me for thinking timing is of the essence in this situation cowboy.” You mutter to yourself angrily, as you reach the door to the medical lab you had visited earlier. Wary to keep your voice low, you didn’t know what was on the other side of that door. You hear Whiskey chuckle to himself, laughing at your constant irritation towards him. Ignoring him you turn the handle and hearing a soft click you push the door open.

Stepping inside the dark room you see two lab techs turn from their computers to face you. “I’m so sorry, I think I left something of mine in here earlier…” you glance around the room assessing your options. You need to get these two out of the way quickly so that you can access the information you need before anyone else comes back. Spotting a stapler on the desk closest to you amongst other scattered office supplies you quickly pick it up and open it. Looking back at the lab techs, you throw them a meagre smile.

“Sorry about this…” You mutter quietly, throwing the stapler into the air and in one swift movement you throw yourself into a cartwheel, flipping your leg forward, kicking the stapler directly in the middle, snapping it in half with the edge of your heel. The two ends of the stapler fly as you return to an upright stance, each side hitting the two lab techs square on their forehead, knocking them out cold. You smirk to yourself, proud of your efficient work.

“Everything under control Vodka?” You hear Whiskeys voice in your ear.

“Everything is under control.” You say as you dash over to the closest computer to you, rolling the lab tech who was slumped over in his own office chair out of the way. Pulling a hard drive out of your back pocket you quickly plug it into the port on the side of the computer screen. Tapping a few keys like Ginger taught you, the entire computer log begins to copy over to your hard drive. Files start to flick across the screen showing you all you ever needed to know about the trials they were running. Pictures of patients flit across the screen, hundreds of people with deceased written in bold red letters across their files. “My god…” you say, your voice catching as the number of files continue to rise.

“What’s going on there Vodka?” You hear a mutter in your ear.

“Whiskey I…” You trail off unable to comprehend how many people had been used and tossed aside for this drug trial. “I cannot believe how many patients they’ve gone through for this drug Jack…” You using his real name throws Whiskey for a loop. He knows how serious this must be if all the sarcasm and snipes had left your voice completely. You continue talking, trying to keep your nerves in check as the picture of the boy from earlier flashes onto the screen, the same words across his picture in red. “The drug they’re testing is an anaesthesia type gas which they’re calling Sunflower… It seems that in most of the cases it takes the patients about a week to experience the more intense symptoms and then eventually…” Trailing off again, your silence saying everything you couldn’t seem to articulate.

All of a sudden, the door to the lab opens and you see the frame of Dr Violet step inside. She quirks her eyebrow at you and glances at her two unconscious techs, down to the hard drive and then back up at you. You hear a small beep come from the computer notifying you that the upload had been completed. You quickly snatch the drive out of the computer as Dr V stared you down.

Looking at you with a knowing smile she puts her hand out towards you. “I think I’ll be taking that off your hands sweetheart.” She says with her hand outstretched.

“I don’t think so Violet.” You say as you quickly pocket the drive, bringing your hands to hover over the knives strapped to your thighs, bracing for a fight.

A crackle comes through your earpiece suddenly, “Vodka, is everything alright?”

You have no time to respond because all at once Dr V goes in for a jab directly into your stomach. Catching you off guard, you keel over in shock and from being suddenly winded, gripping your stomach. “That’s Doctor to you.” Dr V quips. Gasping, desperately trying to regain your breath you pull out one of your knives from your thigh holster and lunge at her, aiming a blow for her shoulder.

Expecting the blade to sink into soft flesh you put all your weight and strength behind your throw. The knife collides with her shoulder, but nothing happens. You hear the clang of metal clashing. Instead of sinking in, the blade slashes downwards, cutting through her lab coat and her suit revealing a metal covering underneath. The force that should have impacted the doctor reverberates back into your arm sending a jarring shock through your body. Quickly recovering you kick out directly at her left leg landing a heavy blow which forces her to recoil back.

Both catching your breath you stare the doctor down. “How could you possibly think what you’re doing here is ok?” You pant out getting ready for your next move.

“We’re trying to improve the world, make people stronger… but sometimes you have to crack a few bad eggs before you find the right one.” She says matter-of-factly, as she nurses her leg.

You both resume a fighting stance readying yourselves. “You’re hurting so many people just to achieve that goal, can’t you see that the harm outweighs any potential good you’re trying to accomplish?” You throw back at her, a venomous anger reaching your voice at her absolute callousness to the situation. You throw your other blade attempting to take her by surprise and incapacitate her, aiming for her already injured leg. The knife hits its mark with deadly accuracy, sinking into the flesh of her thigh. Dr Violet cries out in pain, sucking air through her teeth as she controls her reaction. She flicks her gaze away from the knife sticking out of her leg back at you, a new fury in her eyes.

“Sunshine are you handling the situation?” You hear Whiskeys tense voice in your ear.

Dr Violet runs at you throwing her non injured leg out kick you hard in the ribs. You grunt in pain, exhaling sharply. Without giving you a chance to recover she grabs you by the throat and clamps her fingers down, restricting any air flow into your lungs. She lifts you up with one arm by the neck keeping you from being able to breath. You grasp her hand with both your own, trying to tear her fingers away from your throat, trying to let any amount of air reach your lungs. She holds you there like you weigh almost nothing, looking you up and down. You thrash out with your legs trying to somehow escape from her grasp as black spots start to cloud your vision.

“Sweetheart?!” You hear Whiskey in your ear once more, his voice riddled with concern. Trying to choke out a response to your partner as your voice cracks, “P-Please…” is all you can muster. You feel yourself start to slip out of consciousness in the doctor’s vice like grip. You hear her calm voice as your body movements start to slow and weaken, “I think you will make a fine new test subject for our trial.” She says with a large smirk gloating at you, her new prize.

All you hear as you finally succumb to unconsciousness is Whiskey yelling your name through the com as your body collides with the floor…

*******************************************************************************************

Permanent Tags:

@hrk-fic-recs @misslexilouwho

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miceenscene · 4 years ago

Text

Star-Crossed

din djarin/female oc | soulmate AU | pre-canon

wc: 2.2k / 4.9k (so far)

summary: The Way was not supposed to be a solitary one. People, house, clan. And when all else failed, your Match. “Fits like a Mandalorian Match” was the old saying. Though it wasn’t so long ago that it stopped making sense. But what's a lost Match to a man like Din Djarin?

warnings: canon-typical violence

Previous Chapter | Masterpost | ao3

Chapter Two: The Question

Din Djarin did not have a Match.

He couldn’t.

How, why didn’t matter…

He just couldn’t.

Right?

This Woman with a small dark spot high on her cheekbone and finely calloused hands and wearing his shirt couldn’t be his Match.

She just… couldn’t.

It was just coincidence that he was pulled into her orbit, like a comet desperately seeking gravitational equilibrium.

And it was coincidence that she apparently felt the same. Even foggy as she was.

She still had not said a word, did not reply or even react when addressed, but she always floated in Din’s direction when he stepped away.

Which wasn’t very often.

The urge, or ‘bond’ as the Armorer called it, was only satisfied if she was near.

The pair of them were something of a side-show in the covert for the evening.

Even through beskar and dark visors, gazes felt heavy on Din’s shoulders.

Outside the covert, curiosity – whether hostile or benign – was expected.

But here? Never before.

He thought about leaving. But as confused as she was, dragging her, barefoot, back through the streets of Nevarro, even just to the ship seemed unwise.

So Din found a spare room in the covert–The Woman following in his wake, fingers still threaded with his.

It was barely more than a door and two stone benches that could pass for beds if needed. But solitude was necessary for his kind.

He found himself hoping she’d speak once they were alone.

She didn’t.

But she did grow tired before too long. Not surprising given her recent clinic visit.

“You can sleep here,” he said, gesturing to one of the benches embedded in the wall.

She did not reply. Or move.

He was not used to being the verbose one.

“Here.” He offered her his cape, threadbare at the bottom but warm enough. She took it, thumbs brushing across the fabric.

Nodding once, he moved for the door.

She followed.

“You need to sleep. I’ll be outside.”

He stepped back and she stepped forward.

“No–” he huffed in minor annoyance. Turning her around by the shoulders, he guided her to one of the benches and sat her down. Gently by firmly. “Sleep. ...Please.”

He stepped back once. Twice. She didn’t move.

On the third step, she made to rise, but his hand outstretched stopped her.

He at least made it to the door before she stood back up.

He surrendered with a sigh. “Fine. I’ll stay here.” Sitting down on the opposite bench from her. “Satisfied?”

She apparently wasn’t as she drifted to sit on the bench, hand fitting into his as she curled up next to him.

A beskar pauldron couldn’t have been a comfortable pillow, but it might as well have been down-filled silk for as quickly as she dropped off.

He waited an hour, then two, just to be absolutely certain she was completely asleep, listening to her gentle breathing turn deeper and slower. Then he eased her off his shoulder to lie down, leaving his cape for her blanket.

She didn’t stir as he headed to leave the room, the door hissing open in front of him.

Stay.

A fist pressed to the front of his helmet for a minute in frustration.

Stay.

There’d be no peace if he resisted.

So he sat down in the furthest corner of the room from her, tipping his helmet back to rest in the crook of the walls.

Her sleeping form was the last thing he saw as his eyes drifted shut.

But when they opened a few hours later, the bench was empty.

His head jerked up only to realize that The Woman had simply moved.

Her head now rested on his collarbone, his arm wrapped around her, her hand clasped in his, pressed tight to his cuirass.

Something high in his chest cracked, fissures reaching magma flow far below, and his next breath quaked.

Beskar cautiously pressed to the top of her hair was not perfect, not even ideal.

But the alternative was terrifying.

The next morning dawned and The Woman still had not spoken, still drifted in a haze where Din was her only heading.

“I don’t know what to do with her,” he said, in the early afternoon, back in the Armorer’s forge.

This time with The Woman at his side, hand in his as always.

“I have work to do.”

“Take her with you,” the Armorer replied.

“I can’t do that.” His work was dangerous enough without spacey tag-alongs who did not listen to reason.

“She won’t be happy to stay here. And neither will you.”

Silence seemed the better reply than admitting how correct she was.

“Can you keep her here while I get supplies?”

“Yes.”

Din was never a meandering purchaser, but it was perhaps the shortest supply run he’d ever made. And that was with the addition of finding clothes and shoes he hoped would fit her.

Karga even made mention that he ‘seemed awfully anxious to get going’. But he coughed up four new pucks after a solid minute of silence.

The Woman was waiting at the western entrance of the covert when he returned and followed along happily back to The Razor Crest, now dressed in nondescript pants and tunic that suited the weather.

He set her down in the co-pilot’s seat and started the engines. Cleared for take off. Coordinates plotted. But first––

Turning back to face her, she looked his way, eyes still distant. “If you want to be taken somewhere, just tell me.”

As if that diffused the uneasy energy of leaving a planet with her.

Again.

She seemed entranced by the pulsing blur of hyperspace, eyes wide and unmoving from the windows.

Seeing as there was just one bed aboard, it made sense to sleep in shifts.

Though every time, he woke to her sitting at the cabinet opening, holding his hand.

He really couldn’t bring himself to mind.

He’d never had many passengers aboard his ship before, at least ones not stored in carbonite. But when he had, they felt like an intrusion. Something to be stepped around and removed at the soonest possibility.

It made very little sense why The Woman didn’t fall into the same category.

The first quarry was on Felucia. Seemed a group of bandits had been making life difficult for the local villages, difficult enough to pay Guild rates to have the base cleared out and the leader brought back in carbonite, ideally to be left in there.

The Woman was sleeping when they arrived. He hoped she’d remain that way in the time it took him to finish the job, which he didn’t think would be long. There were two dozen bandits at most, ill equipped and even less trained.

He slung his rifle over his shoulder and paused to rest a hand on her shoulder.

Stay.

“I’ll be back,” he said in a low tone, before forcibly ignoring the bond and heading out.

Return.

Unfortunately, in his admittedly distracted scouting of the base, he missed the patrols they were doing of the surrounding forest.

Which is how his nest was stumbled on by some truly lucky trandoshans, who just happened to have back up already on the way, and Din was disarmed, cuffed, and taken into the yard behind the walls of the base.

Not ideal, but he’d been in worse setups.

Though the odds tilted out of his favor when the head of this bandit ring was revealed to be an ex-storm trooper sergeant. That had not been in the briefing.

No wonder there were forest patrols… and imperial grade handcuffs.

At least they let him keep his helmet for the time being.

However, they were unfortunately interested in how he’d gotten to them. A search party was immediately dispatched to find his ship.

They hadn’t been gone more than five minutes when suddenly,

Danger.

Oh no.

The Sergeant’s comm link activated. “Ship not yet located, but we did find something else, boss.”

“What?”

“Kursan is bringing her to the base.”

No. No. No.

“Well, well, well. This yours, Mando?” the Sergeant laughed as The Woman was brought into the yard at blaster point. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

The Woman did not answer. She tried to step away from Kursan, but his grip on her arm stopped her, blaster pressing to her back.

“Let her go,” Din said. “She’s not part of this.”

“Oh, so, she’s up for grabs then?”

The Sergeant chuckled when Din did not reply. “‘Cause, ah… I know she’s not a local. And it’s not everyday beautiful women come wandering through the forests of Felucia.”

Danger!

He grinned. “This just got interesting. I know you Mandalorian types. Torture doesn’t bother you. Rip your lungs out and you still wouldn’t talk.” The Sergeant swaggered over to one of the weapons racks, picking up a bo staff. “You’re big on honor, loyalty. But more importantly, Protection.”

The Sergeant turned back to face The Woman, regarding her closely. “I wonder how pretty her face will be after I’m through,” he said quietly, steadily.

Rage breaking through control, Din pulled at his cuffs but they held strong.

“Leave her alone!” Din snapped.

Danger. Danger. Danger.

“Tell me where your ship is.”

Din gaze swept through the area, hopping from his restraints to his captors, seeking alternate routes. Desperate ploys. Anything.

The Sergeant did not wait, bo staff meeting The Woman’s ribs with a crack. She cried out and dropped to her knees, arms wrapped around her middle.

“Tell me where the ship is.”

With a swift inhale, the Sergeant lifted the bo staff for another swing–

“It’s on the ridge. A klick and a half due south.”

The Sergeant grinned again. “There. Now was that so difficult?”

He swung the bo staff down towards her–

“NO,” Din yelled–

The Woman’s hand caught the staff, mid-swing.

Her head snapped up. Snarl on her mouth.

She snagged the staff sideways, through the Sergeant’s grip, and gouged it into Kursan’s stomach.

His blaster fell to the ground. She grabbed it.

One shot, Kursan was down.

Second shot, hit the middle of the Sergeant’s cuirass, making him stumble back, and she got hold of the bo staff.

One quick swing knocked him to the ground.

Din used the cover of surprise to knock his blaster out of the hands of his guard.

Grabbing it, one shot to kill that guard and a second to kill the other.

The rest of the battlements finally caught on and opened fire into the yard.

The Woman ran for cover behind a parked imperial shuttle as Din tried to draw as much attention as possible away from her. Still cuffed, but at least he had the beskar.

A post under the battlements was as best cover as he could find. But it gave him a clear view of the opposite wall. Another shot, another guard fell.

A body dropped right in front of him, shot down by The Woman on the other side of the yard.

Who was she–no. Curiosity could be dealt with later, right now he was just kriffing grateful.

In tandem, they methodically took out the guards on the wall.

But Din lost sight of the Sergeant in the chaos.

He found him again when the Sergeant and The Woman came around the shuttle, bo staff and axe swinging furiously.

Din rolled out of cover, getting the last few guards she left behind above him.

The Sergeant blocked her high swing, but wasn’t ready as she brought the bottom up between his legs.

Then around to sweep his feet out from under him again.

Din turned and fired, hitting the gap between his cuirass and pauldron. The Sergeant collapsed.

The Woman turned on Din, gun back out and pointed his way.

One last guard, buried in cover, popped out and got off a single shot that pinged off Din’s armor.

Without looking away from Din, The Woman fired and the guard fell.

Oh.

Silence filled the yard as she turned her gun back on Din.

Her eyes were clear now, scorching in their fury. He was far more likely to die by her hand than any of the bandits.

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and Din had never seen anyone more miraculous.

He dared a step closer, still cuffed, blaster in one hand but lowered.

Her grip tightened on her gun.

Probably best to stop moving so the conversation didn’t begin in gunfire.

Her grip flexed again, and her brows flickered together.

Help.

“It’s alright,” he said in a calm, low tone.

She didn’t care much for that, fury flaring brighter.

Frustration became palpable as her mouth opened but no words came out.

She was straining for something, tension pulling her muscles taught. The hand on her bo staff shook once, till finally–

“VAII,” she demanded, the single word wrenched from her mouth with a great deal of effort.

It’d been so long since he’d heard mando’a outside of the covert, it took a moment for the word to register.

“Vaii me’bana?” he asked when she didn’t clarify. Where-what?

“Vaii!?” she repeated, after a shorter struggle.

“Felucia.” He hoped that was what she was asking.

Frustration and fury simmered down into confusion. Mouth opening again but no words coming out for a moment.

“Tion?” How?

Somewhere inside the compound, an alarm sounded.

Next: Chapter Three: The Promise

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peaskyblonders · 4 years ago

Text

Tease

GIF NOT MINE!!!

John Shelby x reader

26: “Bite your lip one more time. I dare you.”

Warnings: swearing, slight choking (oops), reader being a tease

1.8k words

You had known the Shelby family for a few years now. You first met them when applying for a job as a bookkeeper when their business was still considered "small" and consisted mainly of family members, but considering you were one of the only women in Small Heath who knew how to add and subtract, they gave you the job and welcomed you with open arms.

The company eventually started to expand and grow and with that, so did your position at Shelby Company Limited. You moved from bookkeeper to John Shelby's secretary, a position that you were content with and wouldn't change for the world.

Unbeknownst to everyone else, you secretly favoured the mischievous Shelby brother to the rest. You remember how giddy you felt when you got offered the job and recall having to stop yourself from jumping with glee upon hearing the news.

You came to work early every day, making sure that Johns desk was tidy and everything was in place, you then wrote him a to-do list for the morning before moving towards your smaller desk across from his room. Your desk was placed directly in front of his windows so you had a clear view of him throughout the day. It was helpful as you could tell if he was too busy to deal with clients, bringing it upon yourself to take a message from them which you would forward onto him later in the day.

The placement of your desk also meant that John could see you at any given moment of the day, he wasn't complaining, of course. He was actually the one who insisted your desk be placed there. Truth be told, if he could have it his way, your desk would've been placed in the room with him, but he couldn't always get what he wanted and he supposed that what he was given was more than good enough.

Johns feelings for you started to shift after a month of you working for him. You had both gotten into a steady routine and were getting used to each other's company, you were getting more confident around the people that you worked with and started wearing clothes that you enjoyed wearing, rather than clothes you thought made you look professional. The first day you ever came to work for the Shelbys, you had on a pair of trousers, a day which John hasn't forgotten since. You seemed to have favoured wearings skirts to work recently, John had noticed, but he wasn't complaining as he knew you'd look good in anything and everything.

You had been wearing a skirt the day everything changed between you and John. You got into work and did all your necessary tasks, you believed it was just a normal day, but John, on the other hand, was frustrated the moment you sat down at your desk. He wasn't sure if you had noticed that your stockings were on full display to him, but he didn't really care as he was finding it difficult to concentrate on anything except them.

You were silently killing him as he nervously bounced his leg up and down behind his desk, hoping somehow to ease the tension that was building around him. He found it even worse that you had no idea what you were doing to him, you were just simply doing your work, he couldn't believe what kind of effect you had on him.

You, of course, knew exactly what you were doing. You could see how uncomfortable John was and you were loving every minute of it. You could see him from the corner of your eye as you did your paperwork and you were determined to see how far you could go before he cracked.

You knew you had to step it up a notch when you saw that John had calmed slightly, you shifted in your seat, trying to make your next moves appear to be as seamless as possible. You crossed one leg on top of the other and ran your hand along your thigh, exposing the garter of your stockings to John. You never once looked up from the paperwork on your desk and silently prayed that he was watching your every move.

He was, you realized when you looked up for a split second to find him already looking at you with his jaw clenched and his hand placed firmly on his knee, holding the majority of his body weight upwards. You gave him an innocent smile, as you normally would, and continued on with your work, trying your hardest to ignore the butterflies in your stomach.

You carried on with your work for an hour or two, until you eventually got bored and looked up into Johns office, finding him emersed in paperwork. You heard the telephone ring from your desk and quickly picked it up. "Shelby Company Limited, Y/N speaking, how may I help you?" you asked, you saw John's head shoot up at the sound of noise outside the office and you made eye contact with him as you continued your conversion with the man on the phone.

You bit your lip slightly as you listened to the man, and raised your eyebrows at John when he requested to speak with him. John furrowed his eyebrows at you causing you to smile and point at the phone and then towards him. He nodded his head when he seemed to understand your message so you redirected the call and hung up from your end. John leaned back in his chair as he took the call, but never seemed to remove his eyes from yours. He was staring at you with a look of hunger in his eyes and you were starting to think that you may have taken your game to far.

You tried to go back to work, putting an end to your childish game. Out of habit, you bit your lip as you calculated numbers, you hadn't even noticed you were doing it until you heard the phone slam down. Your head shot up and a shiver ran down your spine when you saw John motioning for you to come into his office.

You took a deep breath as you stood up, flatting out your skirt before you walked the short distance to his office and opened the door. "Everything alright, Mr Shelby?" you asked, an innocent look plastered on your face.

John scoffed at your words. "Would you like a drink?" he asked as he walked to the other side of his room, you made your way closer to his desk, wondering what the hell was happening and if you were about to get fired.

"Em no thank you, I don't drink while I work."

"You don't think it's ok to drink while working, but you think it's ok to tease me all day and not let me get any work done, huh doll?" he spoke as he took a predatory step towards you, causing you to walk backwards and lean on his desk.

"I'm sorry?"

"Don't act all innocent now, darling" he scoffed as he swallowed his drink in one long gulp. He leant down to place it beside you on the table. You could feel his breath on your shoulder and you bit your lip to stop yourself from letting out any noise. John straightened up and his eyes immediate fell towards your lips. He hand moved to gently grab your chin, his tumb removing your lip from your teeth before his hands fell down to hold the desk, entrapping you between him and the desk. "Bite your lip one more time. I dare you," he whispered as he looked deeply into your eyes.

You felt your breath hitch in your throat and john smiled mischievously at the sound. "We shouldn't be doing this, John" you warned, although your body seemed to be betraying you as you leaned closer to him.

"And why the fuck not?" he wondered, his head ducking down to be eye level with you.

"It's wrong, I'm your secretary, Imagine if Tommy found out-"

"Tell me you don't want this. Tell me and ill step back."

You, once again, bit your lip at his words, knowing that there was no way you could tell him you didn't want this when you had constantly dreamt about it for over a month. You opened your mouth to speak but before you could get any words out, John had slammed his lips onto yours, his two hands cupped your face, pulling you into him while his body pushed you further against his desk.

You kissed him back with as much force as you could, grabbing the sides of his suit jacket and pulling him even closer to you. You were certain he could feel every curve of your body and the only thought going through your mind was that you wanted him even closer.

John eventually pulled away, his chest rising and falling rapidly with every breath the took. He closed his eyes as he rested his forehead against yours. "Told you to stop biting that fuckin' lip, Y/N"

You brought your hand up to gently run your fingers over the side of his face. His eyes fluttered open at the feeling, causing a smile to grace your face. "Make me."

Those words seemed to be a breaking point for john. His eyes darkened in colour as he shoved the books off his desk and placed you on top of it. Standing in between your legs, he ran his hands along your thighs as he kissed you again, with more passion this time. One of his hands moved to grab the side of your neck while the other squeezed your thigh. You involuntary let out a moan and John grinned at the sound.

His mouth moved to your neck, kissing every bit of flesh that he could find until he found your sweet spot. He began to suck lightly on the patch of skin before pulling away and blowing lightly on it. "No hickeys, John," you warned.

He laughed as he placed a quick peck to your lips. "I'm afraid its too late for that, sweetheart. Besides, it'd be nice to look at tomorrow, a little reminder so to speak." You rolled your eyes at him, the action being cut off as he applied the tiniest amount of pressure to your throat. "None of that love."

"Just kiss me you idiot" you moaned as he resumed his previous position. You felt his hand move higher on your thigh, hissing lightly as he lifted your garter and let it fall against your skin.

"Now these have caused a tremendous amount of pain for me, think id prefer to just take them off, hmm?"

"John your anyone could walk past" you scolded, although your eyes were closed and you were leaning into his touch, so you doubt you put up much of a fight.

"Lets put on a show then," he grinned before kneeling down and removing your stockings at a painstakingly slow pace.

And put on a show he did.

#john shelby x reader #john shelby imagine #john shelby one shot #Peaky Blinders #john shelby #john shelby fanfic #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders fanfiction #Shelby #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinder imagine

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malikmata · 3 years ago

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Notes from a Brown Boy - Kansas Diaries

*Author’s Note: Some people’s names have been changed to protect their identities

The rain was the first thing to greet me when I landed in Wichita. Overhead the gray clouds loomed, shadowing the farmland that yawned in the distance. Distance. At first glance, the city seemed like one long stretch of prairies and cracked parking lots, occasionally punctuated by billboards of grinning injury lawyers and lit up restaurant road signs.

If you spend enough time here amid the crumbling old buildings, watching the weeds sway in the vacant lots, you’ll feel the slow, inevitable creep of dread or something like it.

It’s easy to feel lonely here.

But, if you’re receptive enough, you’ll run into many friendly folks. Sometimes too friendly.

For example: During my first week, I went to Freddy’s, a local fast food chain, and ordered a crispy chicken sandwich with fries. The cashier, a young woman with glasses and short blonde hair, suddenly started confessing her fear that her 8-year old chihuahua wouldn’t live a long life.

“I still think of him as a teenager,” she said.

“Don’t worry,” I said. “He’s a chihuahua. They live long lives.”

Out here, in the most middle-of-the-road cities, you sometimes get a chance to show an act of passing kindness. While waiting in line at one of the hip, new cafes downtown, a place called Milkfloat, a tall elderly gentleman recommended which coffee and pastry to get.

“My wife says this place has the best cold brew in town.” Afterwards, grabbing his pastry and coffee, he wished me a good day. Most folks here always do and you better hope it comes true. Because here, like elsewhere, a day is filled with ordinary heartbreaks.

I will simply call her “Tita.” She works as a tailor at a department store, the only tailor working there, hemming and tapering racks full of suit pants under fluorescent lights. The nature of the job requires exact measurements and a keen eye for detail. She works hard, often skips lunch, and comes home dead tired. Her husband is recovering from 4 broken ribs after a car repair job went awry. Nothing can be done but wait until he gets better.

They live in a languid suburb on Wichita’s east side, a street with few sidewalks but plenty of lawn.

And noise. Plenty of noise. The neighborhood sits next to a car dealership. The skies overhead rumble continuously with airplanes and thunderstorms. Dogs bark at anyone who gets too close. A pickup truck blasts a corny country song as the cicadas and frogs belt out their lonely mating calls. Occasionally, a child’s laughter rises above it all.

Gossip is one of the great pastimes in towns like these. Even if you shut yourself up in your home, stories trickle in.

The neighbor across the street shot himself in the head.

The elderly couple that used to live next door got committed to a nursing home.

A fellow around the corner is on his third attempt to grow weed.

A college student starves himself morning to night so that he can save money for college.

Down the street, a kid lifts weights and punches the heavy bag hanging on his front porch.

Here, dumb luck seems, more so than in the big cities, the providence of God.

A man told me he got a job installing new carpets at a friend’s house. He was in desperate need of money, having sent most of it to his mother back home, who proceeded to gamble it away. When he ripped out the old carpet, he found a bundle of $10,000 dollars just lying there. His co-worker said, “We should split it.”

“No, no, we can’t take it.” the man said. He gave the money to his friend.

Sometime later, he went to the casino and couldn’t stop winning jackpot after jackpot. He brought home close to $16,000 in one night.

“So, if you do something good,” he told me, “God will remember that.”

Many people have come to live and die here, all of them wrapped up in the melancholic churning of faded ambitions and familial obligations.

Some people here have found something that returns them to the placidity they once felt in their youth. Sometimes that’s enough to keep them going.

For example:

I met Phil Uhlik, the namesake of the music store on E Douglas. He heard me playing an old Martin acoustic in one of the rooms. He shuffled in slightly hunched over, wearing a blue paisley shirt and brown shorts. He looked at the sunburst guitar in my hands and said, “It’s got a little beauty mark there.” He pointed to a small nick just above the sound hole. “All girls have beauty marks.” He pointed to his cheeks and smiled.

Uhlik started this music store 51 years ago and enjoys every moment of it.

“When you go to work for Boeing, that’s work,” he said. “But this, it doesn’t feel like work.” He motioned to the instruments all around him.

“How’d you get started?” I asked.

“I started off playing one of these,” he said, taking one of the accordions off a nearby shelf. As he strapped it on, all the years seemed to disappear. With a big crooked-teeth grin, he breathed life into the old accordion, his hands dancing up and down the keys. The smile never left his face as we bid farewell to each other.

I wish everyone in this world were as lucky as Phil.

I’m always seeking indie bookstores when I travel. Eighth Day Books provides much needed shelter from the summer heat. The shop was built 33 years ago and used to be located about half a mile east, in Clifton Square Village. About 17 years ago they moved to their current location, a 1920 Dutch-style colonial house on the corner of E Douglas and N Erie. Its blue trimmed windows peek through the foliage of neighboring trees.

When you walk in, you’ll see shelves of books on Christianity and Theological studies, most notably in the Eastern Orthodox tradition. I’ve never seen a bookshop with a section dedicated to Iconography.

Wichita, despite its size, feels like a small place. And with that cramped spaciousness, you’re likely to run into someone you may remember or who may remember you. Here I ran into my girlfriend’s 8th grade English teacher. A bald, bespectacled man with a gentle demeanor. After a bit of catching up, he said to us with a smile, “I hope all your dreams come true.”

The short story writer, Raymond Carver, once wrote: “Dreams… are what you wake up from.”

Wichita is a land that hypnotizes you; it makes you dream, dream of something beyond the miles of strip malls and airplane factories, beyond the shocks of wheat and windswept plains, beyond the doldrums and ennui. But it also shakes you awake, reminds you that you’re in it, that you better stop dreaming.

I’m not the religious sort anymore, having survived the regime laid down by my Catholic parents. But there is something enthralling, maybe even inspirational, when I look at the rows of beautifully painted portraits of saints and martyrs. Such solemn faces surrounded by golden halos. According to the Eastern Orthodox tradition, such paintings transcend art; they’re supposed to be windows through which you can glimpse the divine. They remind me of my grandparents with their judging eyes and moral seriousness.

My book haul for the day:

Snow Country by Yasunari Kawabata

The Diary of Anne Frank

Earthly Signs: Moscow Diaries by Marina Tsvetaeva

Near to the Wild Heart by Clarice Lispector

In that last book, I found this lovely little passage:

…”in the Revolution, as always, the weight of everyday life falls on women: previously--in sheaves, now in sacks. Everyday life is a sack with holes. And you carry it anyway.”

From Earthly Signs, P. 40

According to the 2019 United States census bureau, 15.9% of Wichita's population lives below the poverty line. That’s higher than the state average, which hovers around 11.4%. That’s not the lowest nor is it the highest in the country. As befitting its location, Kansas is right in the middle.

The minimum wage in Kansas is still $7.25 despite efforts to increase it to $15. When Covid-19 hit, city and service workers bore the brunt of the impact. You can keep all your empty slogans like “We Love Our Frontline Workers.” Congratulate me all you want for my hard work but where’s my pay?

When you see that business here has returned to normal--people freely walking around without masks, no longer socially distancing--it still feels all too strange; we spent an entire year under lockdown. There’s still a pandemic by the way.

Loved ones fell ill, died alone, hooked up to ventilators in closed off hospital rooms. I believe every interaction now carries the weight of all those deaths. My family, like so many others, didn’t escape unscathed from the pandemic. My grandpa, Amang, caught Covid. Since he was an elderly citizen (and suffering from emphysema to boot), he was among those considered most at risk. We all feared the worst. Somehow he survived. The doctors called him a “trailblazer.”

Now, with businesses back to 100% capacity, I’m afraid that, just like the 1918 Flu epidemic, the past will fade like a nightmare upon waking. But it was so much more than that; it was an avoidable tragedy.

If you want to know what this pandemic has done to people and their livelihoods, is still doing to them, take a ride through downtown.

Things were already going bad before Covid hit. Back in 2004, the writer Thomas Frank wrote,

“There were so many closed shops in Wichita… that you could drive for blocks without ever leaving their empty parking lots, running parallel to the city streets past the shut-down sporting goods stores and toy stores and farm implement stores.”

What’s the Matter with Kansas: How Conservatives Won the Heart of America, P. 75

What led to all this blight? Frank attributes the decline to:

“the conservatives’ beloved free market capitalism, a system that, at its most unrestrained, has little use for smalltown merchants or the agricultural system that supported the small towns in the first place.”

-P. 79

The same story happens in a lot of places. A megacorporation keeps eating everything around it and leaves nothing else at the table.

The people are left hurting, a pit in their stomachs, and some asshole somewhere profits off of it.

While at the DMV, I overheard this:

“You have a good day now,” the security guard said.

“I’ll try my best,” a woman said.

My girlfriend heard them too and laughed.

“You really do have to try your best in order to have a good day here.”

At some point, we hit the town with a couple friends: Monica, and her boyfriend Will. Both are musicians trying to carve out their niche in a place that, on the surface, seems apathetic to creative pursuits.

It’s impossible to not be captured by their energy. As soon as we walk into their house, Monica, with her dark blonde hair draped over her shoulders, reached in for a hug. Will, a tall and bearded fellow with a bear-like presence, also went in for the hug.

“Ready to experience some Wichita nightlife?” Monica asked.

What is the nightlife here like? A group of high school punks wanted to fight us over a couple movie theater seats. Bored kids play rounds of “Chinese Fire Drill” at stop lights. I heard a nazi biker gang rolled into town at some point during my stay. Regular things like that.

At a low-key bar downtown called Luckys, I met a guy named Cory. He told me how he met a 15 year old kid loitering here, looking lost and forlorn.

“I don’t know what kind of advice I can give you but I’ll do the best I can,” Cory said.

This is the spirit I’ve often come across during my stay: A sort of slightly intrusive compassion. For a cynical Californian like me, the behavior seems a little strange, maybe even a little annoying. But I’ve come to appreciate the candor of it.

“Guaranteed we’ll know half the people here,” Will said.

Right away, he shook hands with the bartender—a high school friend of his—and asked him how his band was doing. Afterwards, we sat down and talked. Talking, after a year of pandemic lockdown, has become a lost art to me. But a little alcohol loosened the lips and suddenly I talked as though I’d known these people my whole life.

Will sipped his whisky on the rocks and told me:

“If everything in this world is meant to break down eventually, then any act of creation becomes an act of defiance.”

It may sound naive but to me, it’s true. I think about the words of the writer, John Berger:

Compassion defies the laws of necessity. To forget yourself and identify with a stranger has a power that defies the supposed natural order of things.

--The Shape of a Pocket, P. 179

Making art has to be, in some way, a compassion act, because it involves letting the environment and the people you meet speak for themselves, allowing a collaboration.

“When a painting is lifeless it is the result of the painter not having the nerve to get close enough for a collaboration to start… Every authentic painting demonstrates a collaboration.”

--The Shape of a Pocket, P. 16

You need to open yourself up, feel what someone is saying behind their words, and hopefully, feel what they feel.

Art, like Compassion, is defiant.

Among the 4 or so Asian markets here, you can find all the ingredients you need to cook up something good. During my first week, I stopped at a place called Grace Market. Like a lot of small Asian markets, it’s family run. A father from Taiwan. A mother from Korea. The son usually helps out when he can. Today (June 23), On this warm Wednesday morning, the son is manning the cash register.

“You’re from California? I’m from there too,” he said.

“Where at?” I asked.

“Sacramento. How about you? So Cal?”

“Nah, Bay Area.”

“Funny. That’s where my parents met.”

“Small world.”

On a different day, we met the father, a jovial man who never fails to say hi when you walk in. He came here over a couple decades ago from California, doing work for the US Army in Garden City. Once his service was over, he decided to stay in Kansas.

“I think you know why,” he said.

More and more young folks these days are leaving California. The high cost of living is presumably what’s driving this exodus. I told him I was also thinking of leaving the Golden State, as much as I love the place.

“Well, a town like this has a lot of potential if you want to save money,” he said. “If I tried to start this business in California, I don’t think I could’ve done it.”

The summer heat can, with the suddenness of a lightning flash, give way to thunderous storms. Speaking as someone from California, whose home has gone through excruciating periods of drought and wildfire, these nightly downpours are a startling yet relaxing sight.

The distant boom of thunder in the distance reminds you of how much of our lives depend on the weather, how small we are in comparison, how we are never separate from the goings-on of nature. The rain doesn’t come down lightly here. At night, it smacks and drums against the window pane with all the force of an animal trying to get inside.

But I don’t find myself frightened by it so much as awed by the combined power of wind and rain colliding against our rickety old house.

Kansas lies in the Great Plains, where layers of cool and warm air often combine into a low-level jet stream. Unimpeded by any natural obstacles on the wide flat plains, the wind roars across the expanse. Thunder growls over the prairie. And lightning flashes on the horizon in a fearsome red tinge.

The storm rages throughout the night, the only source of light in an ocean-sized plain.

“In general, the gods of the Wichita are spoken of as "dreams," and they are divided into four groups: Dreams-that-are-Above (Itskasanakatadiwaha), or, as the Skidi would say, the heavenly gods; and (2) Dreams-down-Here (Howwitsnetskasade), which, according to the Skidi terminology, are the earthly gods. The latter "dreams" in turn are divided into two groups: Dreams-living-in-Water (Itska-sanidwaha), and the Dreams-closest-to-Man (Tedetskasade)”

From The Mythology of the Wichita, P. 33

If you go downtown, you’ll see a sculpture called “The Keeper of the Plains.”

It’s almost 9 o’ clock when I get there, so large crowds have gathered to watch the ring of fire lit around its perimeter.

The statue was designed by indigenous artist and craftsman, Blackbear Bosin. Born in Cyril, Oklahoma, but living much of his adult life in Wichita, Kansas, Bosin was of Comanche and Kiowa descent and almost entirely self-taught as an artist.

When you come upon the Keeper of the Plains, standing tall on the fork of the Arkansas and Little Arkansas Rivers, you can’t help but feel a mix of admiration and sadness. It’s a striking statue, especially when set against the beautiful orange and lavender hues of the setting sun. But monuments like these end up reminding you of the Wichita peoples who were killed, displaced, driven from their land, and left to die in reservations, forgotten. The tribes that once lived here along the southern plains still show traces of their culture but now, you’ll see it mostly as a memory in a museum or as art hanging on the walls of a library.

I learned from a video by the Wichita Eagle that the last speaker of the Wichita language, Doris Jean Lamar, died back in 2016. It must be indescribably lonely to be the last speaker of a language. There is no one to have a conversation with, no one to whom you can confess your hopes or your regrets. But in the video, Lamar, even knowing that she is the last speaker, expresses hope that future generations will know what the language sounded like.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5ScPkN_xGRI

Is forgiveness even possible when injustices are still committed today against native peoples everywhere?

Not enough can be said about the skies here, which seem at times so brilliantly marbled with peach and lavender colors that you begin to walk with your head perpetually craned upwards.

It’s this aspect, the overwhelming sense of the sublime, that will probably stay with me long after I’ve left Kansas.

I think again about the nature of dreams. It isn’t such a sin to dream about things, about things that haven’t happened yet, and about things that have happened. To quit dreaming seems too cynical, like admitting from the outset that everything is screwed, that you should stop trying.

During my stay here, I’ve met many people who aren’t so irony poisoned yet, people who are achingly sincere and kind. They haven’t stopped trying. There isn’t much room for cynicism here. I appreciate that a lot.

Farewell to you, Kansas, you and your clumps of cumulus and vast fields of cows and grass. I’ll see you again.

Check out Will’s music! It’s gloomy, melancholy, and LOUD!: https://teamtremolo.bandcamp.com/album/intruder

#diary #photoblog #photo diary #midwest #kansas #travel diaries

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words-for-holland · 4 years ago

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Quarantine Series: The Birthday Week

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Summary: It’s Tom’s Birthday Week! So much planning, food, and surprises....and a special promise from our favorite Q.S. Couple.

A/N: It’s been long overdue...Is it too late to say Happy Belated Tom?! 🥺

A/N: Happier Part 3 comes out this weekend!!

Check the Rest: Burnt Out | A New Look | Secret Cuts & Kisses | Breaking Friendships

May 25, 2020 (T-Minus 7 Days)

An almost average Monday. Its the start of Tom’s Birthday Week and Y/N is trying her best to get ahead of the game and prep up for an over-the-top birthday party for her boyfriend. Well as over-the-top as it can get when you’re stuck in Quarantine because...well...Covid.

The only problem, she didnt know where to start. What party to throw, games to play, food to make, playlist to create, and above all the gift. This year Y/N wanted to give Tom something that held a lot of sentimental value to represent all the love she had for him. While Y/N was lucky enough to have someone like Tom to spoil her and show her just how much she meant to him, she wanted to do the same for Tom. So, she went to the spare room, which had now become her new work space and started googling away.

May 26, 2020 (T-Minus 6 Days)

The next day, Tom and the boys went out for their daily Golf match, while Y/N stayed behind to continue party planning. She made sure to be discreet about it and pretended that she had to take care of a few things for work. In reality, Y/N facetimed her best friend, on advice of what to get Tom for his 24th.

“C’mon Im serious Nico. I want to give him something special this year.” Y/N groaned when she knew her best friend wasn’t giving her the answers she wanted.

“Im sorry, Y/N. I dont know what you could give him. You’ve know him better than anyone else.” Nico reasoned, as Y/N continued her helpless groans, banging her head on the table. “Look Im sure what ever you come up with, Tom is going to love it no matter what.”

“But that’s the problem I don’t know what I can come up with. Our first year together I got him clothes, last year it was golfing gear, I don’t know how I can top that.” Y/N continued to stare at the desk picking up and dropping her pencil repeatedly. “I just know that I want it to be something he can always look back at and know that I’ll always be there for him.”

“Wow. You really like this kid don’t ya?” Nico questioned, but of course she knew the answer to that...anyone did.

“Yeah...more than anything.” Y/N smiles back as she thinks about Tom.

“Well what about a promise ring?” Y/N’s ears perk up at the suggestion.

“Like uhhh a men’s promise ring? Do they even make promise rings for men?” She questions, though isn’t opposed to the idea.

“No, Im talking about a donkey’s promise ring.” Nico rolls her eyes. “It’d be cute and not to mention empowering because you’d be making the first move. Empowering women is super attractive.”

Y/N stops to give it some thought. It would be cute to have a ring for him and see him wear it everywhere knowing he would carry a symbol of her love. Of course it’s nothing like the real thing when couples get married and all, but it’s a step toward that direction. “Ill think about it.” She says.

May 27, 2020 (T-Minus 5 Days)

Y/N had finally given the idea a good 8 hours when she decided to find the ring. She scrolled through pages and pages to find the ring but none of them spoke to her or looked like it was meant for Tom. The more she scrolled the more anxious she got, slowly biting ther thumb nail as she continued.

“You know if you’re gonna do birthday shopping for someone in the house, the kitchen might not be the best place to do it.” A deep british voice popped up from behind.

Y/N shrieked and jumped, quickly closing her laptop, afraid she had already ruined the surprise. Until she turned around and saw it was just Harrison. “Ugh, was it reallg necessary to do that?” She whined. “You almost gave me a heart attack.”

“Of course wheres the fun in simply asking what you’re doing.” He laughed, pulling a chair next to Y/N as he watched her scroll through pages or rings. His smile growing ever so slightly. Y/N looked at him with suspicion.

“Okay I know that smile...clearly you know something I don’t.” She states. “Is this a bad idea?”

Harrisons smile dropped quickly as he profusely shook his head. “What? What? No...I just uhh — actually yeah the rings are not a good idea.” He blabbers. Y/N looks at him, waiting for Harrison to continue. “I mean think about it. If you buy a ring for Tom and he starts wearing it everywhere. People are gonna suspect that he’s getting married or worse find out about your relationship. I don’t know if you wanna risk that.”

Harrison was lucky to be a gifted actor as he improv-ed his answers on the spot in hopes that Y/N did not find him to be too suspicious. If she called his bluff and found out, Tom would make sure Harrison would never see the light of day. “You should go for this necklace. I think it suits him and has a touch of your style.” Harrison points out to a necklace he truthfully thought she should get him. With that, he quickly left Y/N to be on her own in gift shopping.

May 28, 2020 (T-Minus 4 Days)

Y/N’s planning was 70% in the clear. The necklace was ordered, Sam was helping out in planning the food, Harrison and Tuwaine were arranging the golf diversion plan, and Harry was keeping Tom busy making sure he wasnt suspecting anything. Although that didn’t stop Tom from bothering his girlfriend a couple of hours of the day. How could he not, the boy missed his girl.

“Y/N..” Tom cooed as he wrapped his hands around her, kissing a small part of her shoulder. “Can you take a break from whatever arts and crafts thing you got going on and cuddle with me?” He continued as he placed another kiss.

“Babe, I’d love to more than anything but I wanna finish this up so I can at least accomplish one thing during Quarantine.” She explains.

“You accomplish a lot of things darling, and you can accomplish another if you just come and cuddle with your needy boyfriend, who happens to be turning 24....in 4 days.” He hinted, places kisses by ear.

“Oh and I suppose that gives you special treatment?” Y/N challenges, letting out giggles as Tom continued to kiss where she was ticklish the most.

“I would hope so. Now, what do you say?” He smiles at her, placing the small strand of black hair behind her ear.

“Okay you win.” She whispers.

May 29, 2020 (T-Minus 3 Days)

Tom and Harry were busy hosting the Pub Quiz, while Y/N and Harrison took the time to create the decorations for Tom’s party. The theme... Spiderman, but what else was new. Harrison drew up webs and spiders on the deflated red and blue ballooms, stashing them in a paper bag to be inflated the day of. Y/N started on the birthday pub quiz answer sheets, customizing them to have that personal touch of Tom. Everything was going smoothly until, she needed more glue.

“Crap, Im gonna check the closet. I think we have a few spare sticks of hot glue.” Y/N stated, as she got up.

Harrison eyes started to display signs of panic as he quickly got up and raced her to it, guarding the closet door. “Uh...there’s no more. I already checked.” He squeaked.

Y/N raised her one eyebrow in suspicion. “I’m pretty sure there’s a couple.” She fired back, trying to pry Harrison off the closet. “C’mon Harrison. This isn’t funny.”

“I think it is.” Harrison continued to stall. Y/N rolled her eyes, coming closer to him, wiggling her fingers. She tickled his sides, knowing it was his weak spot. His grip started to loosen as he let out fits of giggles. Y/N took the opportunity to quickly open the closet, and grab her glue sticks. She looked around to find if anything was suspicious or worth hiding, but there was nothing.

“You know...you’re acting really weird.” Y/N stated as she walked back to the table to continue her project. Once she was out of Harrison’s sight, he quickly texted Tom about the dilemma. Only to receive:

Time to find a new spot then.

May 30, 2020 (T-Minus 2 Days)

It was Tom & Y/N’s turn to wash the dishes after dinner. The irony both had no clue what one was planning for the other. They were always the type to be truthfully honest to each other, but a few little playful secrets couldn’t hurt. “So, is it just me or is Harrison acting really...strange?” She asked her boyfriend. Tom looked at her, pretending to not know what she was talking about.

“Umm..not sure. He seemed fine to me....Why? What’s happened?” Tom asked casually, focusing on the dishes.

“You know for someone that’s really good at acting, you’re a terrible liar.” Y/N laughed out loud, only to get splashed with water. “Touche. But seriously, he gets so nervous around me. Like someone’s out to get him if I do something he doesn’t expect. I wanted to get glue sticks yesterday in the closet and he straight up guarded the door, saying I wasn’t allowed....in out own closet?! I swear it’s like he’s hiding something in there.”

“Haz, you div.” Tom muttered under his breath.

“What was that babe?”

“Uhh nothing. I was just saying Harrison is a piece of work. Even I couldn’t tell you why he was acting like that.” He lied.

“Uh..huh.” Y/N responded, not buying anything but rather just letting it be.

Tom placed the dishes on the rack, while he came up behind his girlfriend, huggling her tightly from behind. “It’s whatever. But, lets just go back to our room, lay under the sheets, watch some Netflix....have a good time.” He smirked, kissing her temple. “And just cuddle like there’s no one watching.”

“Mmmm. Now that sounds like a plan.” She whispers pulling him to their room.

May 31, 2020 (T-Minus 1 Day)

Y/N only had 1 day left to prepare everything for Tom’s big day. She made sure to stay on top of everyone’s tasks and prepped her gifts for Tom tomorrow. Y/N was extremely proud of everything and everyone that was taking part of her little project. A rare sight anyone would ever see, but the most thing she was proud of was how secretive they were able to keep it that Tom didnt suspect a single thing.

“So, got anything planned for tomorrow?” Tom asked Y/N as she was cooking pancakes.

“Mmm I dont know. Am I supposed to have something to do tomorrow?” She teases.

“Well..” He starts as he takes the spatula out of her hands. “I hear it this div’s birthday tomorrow.” Tom grabs Y/N’s waist, picking her up and placing her on the counter. “And I hear he just wants to spend it with his girls all day long.” Y/N’s legs locked around Tom’s waist as he continues his not-so-obvious birthday wish.

“Oh there’s gonna be more than one girl at this birthday of his huh? He must be quite the player.” She smiles at him, fingers thresding through the small brown hairs at the nape of his neck.

“Well yeah because Tessa is his princess but Y/N, this really cute adorable hot girl who doesn’t think she’s hot but should really start seeing it...that HIS princess.” He explained, kissing every visible spot on her face. “It would make his 24th. Trust me.”

Y/N pretends to stall and think about his wish. He knew he was going to get Y/N and Tom time together no matter what, but where’s the fun in just expecting it. “We’ll see about that birthday boy.”

June 1, 2020 (Party Time!!)

The boys were all out celebrating Tom’s birthday at the golf course at the start of the day. Of course that wasn’t until Tom made sure to get some extra love and attention from his girlfriend first thing in the morning. Y/N quickly rushed to get the decorations in place, while Nikki, Tom’s mother helped in setting the table and getting the food ready with cleR and concise instructions from Sam to ensure they couldn’t mess it up.

“Y/N this was such a wonderful idea. I cant wait to see his face when he comes home.” She exclaims, giving Y/N the most comforting hug.

“Thank you Nikki, I just want it to be perfect for him this year. I mean we’re all in Quarantine and all of us are finally together in one place.” Y/N explains as she places the final ballons up by the doorway.

“Well of this is how you prepare for a birthday, I can’t wait to see how you prep for your wedding.” Nikki responds, only half joking.

“He hasn’t even proposed yet!” Y/N laughs, though the thought makes her stomach flutter in the best way possible. Being married to Tom was all she could ever want in life.

“Well, dont you worry. Im sure it’ll happen, that boy can’t gona second without you I’d be surprised if he doesnt....May just have to chastise him if he takes too long.”

Y/N was starting to grow a bit suspicious. This whole week alone was filled with suspicion. Harrison acting weird, Tom being extra needy and cuddly, Nikki talking about marriage. “Was Tom going to propose soon? “ she thought to herself.

Just in the nick of time, the boys had all arrived after an intense game of golf. They came in bursting in conversation about how great it was, who deserved to win, and of course how Dom was always getting beat at his own game by his sons. Of course the festivities didnt start yet, until Tom took a moment to shower and dress up. It wasnt that he needed to, but for him..it was extremely necessary for today.

Y/N went up to grab her presents for Tom in the work closet, when all of a sudden, a small box landed on her head. She looked up then down towards where the item fell, only to see a sparkling pink and clear diamon cut ring. “Oh my god” she muttered.

“Bullocks.” Tom spoke out loud wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around his torso.

“I...uh..Im sorry Tom. I swear I wasn’t looking for it I was just trying to get my gift so I could give it to you. I didnt know this was your hiding spot.” She frantically explains picking up the box and giving it to him.

Tom looked a little disappointed as he stared at the ring. He had worked so hard to keep it a secret from everyone only to get it ruined on his brirthday. “No no no. It’s fine Y/N, really. I just...I was planning on giving this to you next month on your birthday.”

Y/N opens her mouth realizing how bad she messed it up. “Oh my god. Tom Im so sorry.”

“It’s fine.” He laughs. “Actually kinda glad you found it. So now I can do this”. Tom gets down on one knee, his towel still wrapped around his torso. “Y/N, I have loved you more than I could ever love anyone in the past 3 years I’ve known you. I swear I could have sworn I was going to marry you the day I met you at the Marvel office with your little black Dell notebook in your hands. Your humor, your kindess, your sympathy and empathy for all living things makes me love you even more. Will you make me the happiest birthday man on earth, and marry me?” He proposes.

Y/N tears up and shakes her head vigorously. “Yes! Yes! Yes!” She cries, repearing the words as she hugs him on the floor. They lean in giving into a passionate kiss, still holding onto each other. Y/N and Tom couldn’t believe it was real. Just a couple of seconds they were boyfriend and girlfriend..now they’re engaged. “Wait. I almost forgot about your presents.” She quickly speaks out grabbing the bag.

“Darling, believe me you were my present. I am beyond satisfied right now.” He chuckles.

“I know, but I got you these too!” Y/N pushes the bag to him. Tom shakes his head as he opens it up find a silver necklace with a retangular pendant, and a major jar full of post- it notes. He observes the necklace and opens up the retangular pendant to find a picture of Y/N and him during their firsf year together. He smiled back at the memory, now seeing as to where they’ve ended uo. Stronger and better than before. Next, he opened the major jar pulling out a small card that read:

For whenever you’re down, need a laugh or missing me.

He picked up a post it note that more pictures of them during their time together with a note saying:

“Remember that you’re the reason we all smile. You are a warm loght of happiness that does not stop giving to the world.”

Tom tears up at the gift. In all his years, no one has ever given him soemthing that held so much sentimental value. “I love you so much Y/N. Thank you for this...for all of this.” He whispers, placing a gentle kiss on her lips.

“Your welcome. I hope you know you mean the world to me too, and I just wanted your birthday to be perfect.”

“It already is...because I have you.” He looks back at her and smiles.

“Cmon birthday boy. Get dressed, we have a party to attend to and news to share .” Y/N laughs as she helps her boyfriend...I mean fiance up. Who said that quarantine birthdays were boring?

Taglist:

@hollanddolanfangirl @parkerspillow

#tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland imagine #peter parker #peter parker imagine #peter parker x reader

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sammysdewysensitiveeyes · 4 years ago

Note

"Hand me that loofah."

Keeping his face carefully averted, Pyro picked up the sponge, and tossed in Fabian’s general direction.

An angry “Watch it, you idiot!” indicated that the loofah had struck it’s intended target. Then there was a low chuckle.

“I get it. You’re a married man, after all. You can’t bear to look upon me, lest you completely lose your self-control. Don’t feel bad, you’re hardly the first.”

Pyro was, in fact, struggling not to lose his self-control, but was fighting the urge to vomit.

“You should have invited me to the wedding,” Fabian continued, accompanied by splashing sounds as he apparently flopped around in the tub. “Are we not friends?”

That sentence was technically true the way Fabian had phrased it.

“Yes,” Pyro responded simply.

“But I can understand that, too,” Fabian continued. “You didn’t want to be upstaged at your own nuptials, and my presence certainly would have captured all the attention.”

“Dominic and I thought you might be a bit too busy,” Pyro said, although the truth was less “thought” and more “hoped.” “We didn’t want to intrude on your valuable time.” He was absolutely going to relay this whole horrible conversation to Avalanche tonight over drinks, with a very exaggerated impression of Cortez.

“Well, I always make time for the little people!” Fabian exclaimed magnanimously. “Hand me that towel.” Water sloshed and Pyro was hit with a fine spray as Cortez stood up in the tub. At least it sounded like he was standing up, Pyro wasn’t going to look. He grabbed the nearest towel and thrust it blindly at the demanding voice.

A hand grabbed his wrist and yanked Pyro around, so that he was face to face with a dripping, naked Fabian Cortez, with soap suds sloughing off his glistening body. It was actually a very nice body, that was the worst part, with with a “package” that partially explained the man’s unearned confidence. But the smarmy, arrogant smile completely ruined the picture.

“Looking’s free, you know,” Fabian grinned.

Directing credit, Pyro thought fiercely to himself. Executive producer.

“Why don’t I give you some privacy to get dressed?” He said aloud, plastering a fake smile on his face. This would all be worth it when show’s profits started coming in, and then Pyro would get himself and Dominic matching His and His jet-skis.

He still wasn’t entirely sure how he wound up in this position. It had started with Shinobi pitching a reality show to the Council, which had somehow, inexiplicably, gotten a majority approval vote, possibly because Krakoa hadn’t been attacked in the last few weeks and the Council was bored. It was Survivor meets the Bachelor, in which groups of male and female mutants competed to win the hand of the handsome, debonair, and, most importantly, ridiculously wealthy Shinobi Shaw, through date nights and dinners and pointless jungle challenges of strength and skill.

Pyro had just made a few innocent comments, that was all. Just a couple of suggestions to Emma, who had wound up saddled with the bulk of the responsibility, about story arcs and pairings and how to arrange scenes for maximum drama and pathos. He understood that stuff, after all, as a romance novelist it was his bread and butter. (And he was a bit of a soap opera fanatic, but he wasn’t going to admit that freely.) Emma had listened with an eager, almost hungry glint in her eyes, and there had been a short conversation that had somehow ended with Pyro agreeing to serve as a writer, director and general creative supervisor, in exchange for a percentage of the profits and fairly massive salary. (Massive to Pyro, anyway, probably a drop in the bucket to Emma “Swimming in the money bin” Frost.)

And it actually had been kind of fun. “Reality” TV presented a unique challenge, in that he wasn’t allowed to directly tell the “performers” what to say, but he could do absolutely anything else to construct his creative vision. He could ask leading questions in the talking head interviews, edit scenes by splicing completely unrelated shots together, and put volatile contestants in a room with plenty of alcohol, then poke at them until they exploded.

Unfortunately, his duties had somehow gradually expanded to include talent-wrangling both on and off-set, which left him stuck making nice with Fabian Cortez, the most “colorful” (obnoxious) and, unfortunately, most popular, of all the contestants. Iceman would probably win the show as the nice, relatable, boy-next-door type, but Fabian was what kept viewers tuning in.

“Oh, that’s quite all right,” Fabian purred. He contorted his body as he toweled himself off, appearing to pose for nonexistant cameras. “I’m a generous man, I can spare you a bit of eye candy, even if our relationship must remain professional.”

“Yes, that would be best. Listen, we need you to do another challenge with Sienna Blaze.”

Fabian’s “generosity” quickly withered away.

“I will NOT get in front of a camera with that maniac! Such an uptight, ill-mannered, man-hating – well, I’m too much of a gentleman to use the word that she so richly deserves! She nearly killed me last time! Over a simple compliment!”

Yes, Pyro remembered it well. Fabian’s near barbeque had garnered record-high ratings. And hopefully tossing them into a mud-pit together in bathing suits would produce similarly explosive results.

“Oh yes, I know, Fabian,” Pyro cooed, hating himself a little. “She’s very difficult, and you’ve been such a professional about it.” He pulled up comforting mental images as he spoke. Jet-skis. Wagyu steak. Insanely expensive whiskey. Him and Dominic having a long honeymoon in Bali, Sydney, Seoul and Tokyo. All those zeros at the end of the check that Emma had given him.

“Well, a professional shouldn’t have to put up with this kind of shabby treatment!” Fabian said haughtily. He was finally wrapping the towel around his waist, to Pyro’s great relief. “I asked for Norwegian strawberries in my dressing room, and that idiot assistant brought me French!”

“I’ll look into it,” Pyro assured him, fully intending to send Fabian the exact same strawberries (which were, in fact, grown on Krakoa) with his apologies and a fake Norweigian label.

He had a vague notion in the back of his head that Emma should be handling this, Emma was supposed to be in charge! And yet she’d gradually eased the responsibility into Pyro’s arms, only sashaying onto set once every few weeks for a “status report,” and spending the rest of the time off performing mysterious and supposedly very important duties for the Hellfire Trading Company and the Council. She never picked up her phone or responded to voice mails.

It was okay, though. Pyro could handle this. He was a damn writer, and he was good at it, and he would poke and prod his stars through the storyline he had planned, because he was absolutely brilliant. Even Emma had said so.

“Anyway, don’t worry about Blaze,” Pyro insisted, his voice dripping with sticky-sweet honey. “We’ve given her a talking to about her behavior.” He had done no such thing. “I’m sure she’ll be much nicer to work with. In fact, we think the audience will really enjoy you putting her in her place. Really demonstrate your masculine superiority.” Was that too much? They couldn’t have Fabian dying on camera, after all, even though it would be hilarious.

“Well, I should hope so!” Fabian said, rubbing lotion carefully across his pecs. “I’m obviously carrying this entire show, and I will be treated with the respect I deserve.”

“You know,” Pyro added slyly, “I think she’s actually got a bit of a crush on you. You know how some women are.” No, this was definitely too much. Oh well, they could edit around Fabian’s inevitable death and resurrection, and in the mean time they’d get some amazing footage.

“Oh, of course,” Fabian said, with a leering understanding creeping across his face. “I suspected from the very beginning. She couldn’t handle my raw sensuality.”

“Who can, really?” Pyro hated this, he really hated every second of having to pull on the polite mask of social niceties and insincere compliments. It always seemed almost obscene. May as well just flip the other fellow over and start tongueing his arsehole, right? Except that was actually fun in the right circumstances.

But he’d done it before, as a journalist dealing with self-important sources, as a novelist schmoozing with publishers and book sellers. He could do it now, for the astronomical salary that Emma was paying him, and for the Prime Time Emmy Award for Outstanding Competition Program that was hovering in his sights. Emma had assured him that it was a strong possibility. Just imagine rubbing that in the faces of all the critics who had called him a talentless hack! They’d say…well, they’d probably say that an Emmy for trashy reality TV was the highest possible honor for a hack like him, but Pyro wouldn’t give a fuck, because he’d have an Emmy and they wouldn’t.

“C’mon, then, we’ll give you a quick touch-up with bronzer. We’re shooting the scene in fifteen minutes.” Pyro began to guide Fabian, still clad in only a towel, towards the bathroom door.

“We’ll shoot the scene when I’m ready, and not a second before!” Fabian insisted. It would probably be another hour of Fabian demanding and sending back expensive snacks before they could even get him to the set. Luckily, they were actually scheduled to shoot the scene in two hours.

“Yes, of course, whatever you want,” Pyro wheedled, imagining the satisfying explosion of flesh and blood that would very likely occur when Fabian and Sienna Blaze came into contact. And Fabian was going to do it, that much was clear now. “I know you’ll do a fantastic job. You’re brilliant you know, absolutely brilliant……”

For a moment, Pyro trailed off as a crack opened in his mental wall, and memories slipped out into the light. Emma pouring more wine into his glass during their monthly meetings, assuring him again and again that he was absolutely brilliant, a true artist, that the show would thrive in his capable hands.

“No, that’s completely different,” Pyro muttered to himself, shaking his head.

“What was that?” Fabian twisted around, the towel slipping dangerously low on his hips.

“Oh, nothing,” Pyro exclaimed brightly, slamming the mental wall shut again. “Now, let’s get you into make-up, ya big handsome star!”

#fabian cortez #pyro #st john allerdyce

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innocentbi-stander · 5 years ago

Text

The Theory of Pleasure

I’ve had an asexual!Jaskier fic idea bouncing around for a while, so I finally made myself sit down and write it, let me know what you think!

As always, I’m willing to take requests for fics or headcanons!

Jaskier had always known he was broken.

Had known it since he was small, when nothing he did was ever good enough. Had known it when he stumbled through yet another sword fighting lesson, his feet stumbling in vain to find their proper place in the footwork. Whenever he looked up to the balcony of the manor, he’d see the look of disappointment etched on his father’s face. It was an expression that he was intimately familiar with even at the age of 12.

That disappointed expression haunted Jaskier throughout his childhood.When he grew willowy and slight, his features were delicate instead of the rugged broad shouldered build of his father. When he chose music over sword fighting, a passion unbecoming of a nobleman’s son.

Jaskier knew he was broken because he saw it in his father’s eyes every time he looked at him.

He knew he was broken on the outside. But as Jaskier grew older he realized he was just as broken inside as well. As he grew older the other noble children began to cast looks at each other he didn’t quite understand. Jaskier couldn’t help but feel like there was something wrong with him. Whatever was going on between his peers mystified him, and he couldn’t comprehend the sudden fascination, but if there was one thing he had learned under the roof of his father it was how to play a part. And Jaskier was always an excellent actor.

So he crafted a mask. A mask of wit and charm. Objectively, Jaskier knew he was considered attractive by his peers. So he used that to his advantage. He masqueraded his way into dozens of beds, not caring if they were men or women, or if they had a partner waiting for them to come home. All he cared about was a warm bed to sleep in at night.

Jaskier made himself a reputation. A reputation of jumping out of windows in early morning light, angry husbands a his heels, a reputation of scandal and movement, and being known. His escapades often only lasted for one night, but one night was all he needed. To Jaskier, sex meant exchanging loving touches and connection, but he knew his many lovers bedded him for another reason entirely. It was just another way to be broken.

It still wasn’t enough. He still wasn’t enough. And Jaskier didn’t understand why. He had done everything his father ever wanted him to be. He had stopped his indulgence in frivolous things like music, had learned to charm the members of the court, had learned to choke down the awful taste of his father’s ire and do better. Jaskier pinned down every piece of himself that mattered and tried to fill the mold of perfection his parents had created for him. It was only then he realized, it would never be enough. It didn’t matter what he did or changed, in the eyes of his parents he was irreparably broken and always would be.

So Jaskier ran away.

He stuffed only what was needed in his pack, grabbed his lute and left. He ran away from his unhappy life. Away from a future of arranged loveless marriages, desperate affairs, away from the toxicity of court gossip, and away from his parents. And as he walked down the lone road, his pants crusted in dirt and his ill suited for traveling shoes already aching, he never felt more free.

When Jaskier ran, he ran towards Oxenfurt, one of the most prestigious schools on the continent. It was the first place he ever felt he could truly call home. In the city everyone was eccentric and full of contradictions. He was far from his rigid life in court where everyone tiptoed around each other. Oxenfurt was bright and loud and nothing like he had ever seen before.

Though Jaskier studied all seven of the liberal arts, music was the one that claimed his heart. At Oxenfurt his dedication to music was not seen as shameful, but a blessing. Jaskier practised his lute until his hands bled raw. His fingers danced across the strings with a mindless ease, and strum with the passion his father had always wished he had for sword fighting.

It was at Oxenfurt where he learned what love truly was. There was no place for love in court. People would marry who they were told to, whether it was for power, placement, or peace, love was never considered a factor. They would never marry for the passion that they shared with one another. The nobles in his father’s court sneered at the thought of love, declaring it something for foolish children. A good noble was emotionless and stoic, and that was one of the reasons Jaskier had always failed to fit in. At Oxenfurt, he was shown poetry and immediately became obsessed with it. He lost himself in paragraphs written by people overwhelmed with devotion and feeling. The idea of loving someone so fiercely above all else and being loved in return seemed like the most fortunate thing in the entire world.

It wasn’t long before Jaskier graduated Oxenfurt as a bard, and although the traditional path was to join a court, Jaskier knew he had had quite enough of nobles for a lifetime, instead declaring the life of a traveling bard. The decision to rough it on the road instead of settling in a cushy court was seen as extremely unusual to those who knew him.

Jaskier had always been guilty of enjoying the finer things in life. Fine wine, fine clothes, fine food, and fine company. Even at Oxenfurt, he still craved the intimacy of a fleeting romance, no matter how short. For Jaskier, sex was never about the physical act, but instead it was about the romance of it all. The ooey-gooey parts, the closeness. He was a man who loved love, and often found himself in bed with lovers, despite never feeling the physical attraction towards them he knew he was supposed to. Sure, he loved to flirt, he lived for the back and forth, making someone smile and be happy. Sometimes he can even enjoy the physical activity of sex, the intimate moment, but the attraction he holds for people is never sexual. Jaskier holds onto these moments because he knows they are the only way he is able to get any instant of romance.

Throughout his travels he had quickly learned more often than not that most people are only interested in sharing their bodies and their hearts, temporarily. Some days Jaskier found himself wishing that sex wasn’t necessary in order to have a nice dinner with someon, to simply talk and exchange a soft kiss at the end of the night. He’d learned that in most parts of the continent there was a fine line between a bard and a prostitute, and since reputation was everything to a musician he did what he thought was needed and told himself he was happy.

Why wouldn’t he be happy? He was traveling, seeing the world and meeting new people, by this point it seemed that almost half the continent had shared a bed with him. By any other person’s standards he was extremely fortunate, and there were many people who would envy him. Jaskier told himself he was just being ridiculously ungrateful, and he should enjoy what he had. He has his music, and his music was everything that had ever mattered to him, but there was still a small part of him that felt empty.

Then he met Geralt of Rivia in a backwater tavern in Posada. When he first spotted him sitting in the corner brooding his first thought was fuck he’s attractive, then he thought, I wouldn’t mind spending the night with him. Before he knew it he was walking up to Geralt’s table and recognizing him as a witcher, and not just any witcher, the ‘Butcher of Blaviken’ and he’s spouting some dumb line about bread in his pants.

What starts as an intent to hook his latest bedfellow turns into a quest for inspiration from a man who must have a thousand stories. The next thing he knows he’s been beaten up and captured by a rogue band of elves in the middle of nowhere and watching wide eyed as Geralt exchanges the rest of his coin in order to ensure their release, and that the elves would stop harassing the townsfolk. He could tell the witcher wasn’t fond of him then, with his endless chattering (Jaskier likes to talk), constant lute strumming, and thousand questions as he follows after Geralt and his horse. The witcher would groan and roll his eyes at him but he did not make him leave and so Jaskier stayed.

Days, weeks, months go by and Jaskier remains by Geralt’s side and what began as a hunt for his latest muse quickly turns into a genuine fascination with the witcher. The rumors about witchers were whispered across the continent, stories of horrible monsters with fangs and claws meant to scare children. Jaskier realized after traveling with Geralt that all of these tales were lies. He was a good man who helped people and always tried to do the right thing. One of the nights in their travels they are sitting by the campfire well after dinner. The stars are shining bright that night and the moon hangs low. The glow of the flames ignited Geralt’s golden eyes and exposed the slight curve of his lips as he laughs, laughs, at something stupid the bard has said and Jaskier thinks, This. This is someone I could really love. And technically he already does, and he knows he would follow Geralt to the ends of the earth if he so allowed.

Months turn into years as he travels by Geralt’s side and Jaskier has never met a single person he’s ever been more invested in knowing. He wants to know Geralt like no one else, wants to shower him in all the love and affection he could, because Jaskier knew Geralt thinks he doesn’t deserve it. They travel together, get to know each other, eat together, tumble in and out of danger together, and they never have to fall into bed to do it.

It’s the happiest Jaskier has ever been while spending time with another person. He found himself falling more and more in love with Geralt every day, despite being certain that the witcher didn’t share the same feelings. While they traveled Jaskier still threw himself at people in desperate hopes of a connection, begging for bits and pieces from those instances of romance. But now he has Geralt.

Geralt, who hates it when others touch him, spares Jaskier a touch of the shoulder, and brush of their hands while they travel on the road. Geralt, who always makes sure to have a meal waiting after Jaskier finishes performing at a tavern. Who buys him new strings for his lute and boots when his old pair fall apart. Jaskier laps all of these things up, the pieces of Geralt that the witcher spares only for him. He collected the moments spent whispering back and forth before sunrise, the small smiles, and the flowers Geralt lets him braid into his hair. He holds them close to his heart and in the darkness he thinks Geralt feels the same.

It all leads up to the dragon hunt, up on a mountain at sunset, sitting closer than close on a boulder next to the witcher, watching the color bleed from the sky. Jaskier locks his eyes on the horizon and tries one last time to reach Geralt, desperate for the romantic connection he’d been craving since long before his years at Oxenfurt. Jaskier felt miles away, despite the fact that him and Geralt were right beside each other. He wants to shout,

Come with me, let’s get away from everything, I love you more than anything, but instead, just like the day they met in Posada, his mouth moves of its own accord and he says,

“I’m just trying to figure out what pleases me” And isn’t that the thing that he’s been chasing his whole life. Why he left his home, why he decided to live a life on the road after leaving Oxenfurt. Jaskier is lost in thought and so he is completely taken off guard when he hears Geralt reply.

“W-what?” He sputters out, rocked by the fond smile on Geralt’s lips.

“I said,” Geralt responds, eyes rolling like this is every other day in their travels and not a moment vastly different than any other in the years they’ve known each other, “and what is it that pleases you?”

Jaskier is thrown back to every other haunted moment of his life. Every other second of his childhood where he was told what he should be, how he should be satisfied and how to please others. He remembers every painful moment, every second he felt broken and like he didn’t belong. Every time he was ashamed of himself and what he lacked. Jaskier remembers his time on the road, of someone pushing him into a mattress and muttering, you should be lucky, I don’t do this with everyone. He thought of all the people who told him what he should be enjoying, what was allowed and what wasn’t. Of every time he forced himself into a small little box with neat edges and longed to be free.

And then he thinks of Geralt. Of long white hair and golden eyes. Of a man who has been told his whole life he is a monster, but tries everyday to do the right thing. He thinks of long nights on the road, of evenings by the campfire where smiles fail to stay hidden. He thinks of a hand on his shoulder, softer than anyone has ever touched him before. Geralt knows all his secrets, how he feels about sex and attraction and never asks Jaskier for anything, ever, only taking what Jaskier is willing to give. Oh, if that isn’t the kind of love Jaskier has been chasing his whole life, and he’s been too stupid to realize it’s been right in front of him this whole time. Jaskier has never wanted anything as badly as he does this.

Suddenly Jaskier remembers himself, and the moment he’s in, the mountain and the sunset, and Geralt beside him waiting patiently for an answer. He turns to his side to face the witcher in the fading light, slightly startled by how close their faces are. He stares deep into those golden eyes, pools he would gladly drown in if given the opportunity. Jaskier exhaled suddenly, his breath leaving him as he realized he has never felt more at home than he does now sitting here with his witcher. He reaches for the hand beside him, rough and calloused from hours of sword fighting and scarred for his troubles, winding their fingers together.

“You,” he breathes into the space between them, “nothing pleases me more than you”.

And as Geralt’s lips connect with his in the most painstakingly gentle kiss in his life, he feels whole.

#the witcher #Witcher AU #the witcher jaskier #the witcher geralt #the witcher yennefer #Jaskier #witcher geralt #witcher jaskier #Geralt #geralt of rivia #geraskier #asexual jaskier #thought i'd give that a try #enjoy

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nad-zeta · 5 years ago

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Hey ! I would like to request a headcanon please !! ✨💕💕 how would Nobunaga, Shingen, Masamune (and if you want kenshin) react when they know that MC is worried about whether she will be able to marry or even be in a relationship with them because she is a foreigner and perhaps his people want someone of the same nationality (since in Sengoku period people in japan were even more traditional and try to preserve the lineage) thank you !! 💖❤️💕✨

Heheh thanx so much for this request, dear! Sidenote i was too lazy to do research cause ive been playing Mitsuhide’s route lol, so if some pieces seem off thats probs why! I hope you enjoy it! In my mind these boys would marry MC regardless of what the people think and would basically tell anyone who has a problem with you to go to hell. But thats just my opinion anyway! ^0^ Much like this whole HC is lol. Hope ya enjoy it <3

HC: Nobunaga, Shingen, Masamune and Kenshin react to Marrying Foreign MC

Nobunaga

The two of you had been friends for a loooooong time now, and both of you were harboring feelings for the other

One day you finally built up the courage to confess, it was during your game of go

“Hey Nobunaga if I win this game of go, I’m going to claim and conquer your heart.”

He looked up and smirked at you “Alright then fireball but if I win then you are to be my girlfriend”

You had never taken the game so seriously in your life before, you put your all into winning that game

And believe it or not you WON, you had to rub your eyes as you stared at the board in disbelief

You were so happy you ran outside and shouted at the top of your lungs “I have defeated Nobunaga and he is now mine”. Mind you whispered that last part

The start to your relationship was tough, the Oda clan members were not happy about their lord taking a foreigner as a lover

They would especially send disapproving glances your way during banquets, lucky the warlords loved you to bits and 100% supported your relationship

One day in particular, some daimyos daughter was throwing so much shade at you for being a foreigner. Saying that you don’t belong here and that she should be with Nobu instead of you blah blah blah.

And if things couldn’t get any worse most of the Oda clan members were in attendance backing the prissy high lady

Nobunaga lost his shit at that moment; he had fought so long and hard to be head of the clan. He had killed his own brother for crying out loud, and even his own mother wanted to kill him.

He was not going to let anyone tell him what he can or can’t do, especially not from the people who wouldn’t hesitate to backstab him at the first opening to rise in station and come into power

He stood up and in his most commanding voice proclaimed that you were the love of his life and that you were the only woman he would ever love. This whole speech ended off with him walking up to you and asking your hand in marriage

The Clan members and some allies of his were not happy, that is when Mitsuhide stated that he should let the people of Azuchi decide who is to be the next woman worthy of being their queen and standing beside their beloved ruler Nobunaga.

Nobunaga was a bit reluctant but agreed to it either way.

Needless to say, Mitsuhide always had his ears on the ground, and he knew the towns and farm people absolutely adored you. And after gathering the people in the courtyard, the dispute was settled and the true queen of Azuchi, was chosen.

Nobunaga couldn’t be happier, he was practically jumping for joy

You couldn’t help but cry from happiness at the warm welcoming and approval you receive from the townspeople of Azuchi. Never again was your position questioned among the rest of the clan members.

Shingen

This playboy would spend each night in the arms of a new woman

That is until he fell in love with you

His people thought it was just a simple fling like all the woman that had come before you

But soon the realized Shingen was starting to get serious about you

They really tried to hate you for being a foreigner, cause they wanted to preserve the lineage

But they couldn’t bring it over themselves, especially considering Yuki also loved you so much

Yuki had told everyone what you had done for them and for Shingen.

It was thanks to you that their beloved leader was healed of his illness

And it was thanks to you that they were able to go back to their homeland peacefully

Plus, you were such a warm, friendly person and everyone that spoke to you couldn’t help but love you

Sit down Yuki this isn’t witchcraft it’s just your charming personality

If anything, they had more of a problem with you being an Oda princess rather than a foreigner

But like I said regardless they all saw you as an angel or a goddess, pure and radiant, and definitely someone who would have their best interests at heart.

TBH his clan members were all too happy the Tiger was thinking about setting down cause these guys have been pestering him for an heir and Shingen ain’t getting any younger

You worked hard to earn their respect and trust

When Shingen publicly asked you to marry him in front of all his people you were a little stressed that someone would have a problem with you. Shingen could see the reluctance in your eyes, so he looked around and said:

“Who here has a problem or concern with me marrying my dearest Goddess over here”. Absolute silence fell. You couldn’t help but smile and accept his proposal.

That night you realized just how loved you were by his people as every second person had hugged a welcomed you to the family.

Masamune

You and Masamune had been together for a while now, and the boy was starting to get serious

He really loved you and couldn’t picture anyone else who could stand by his side and rule the date clan with him quite like you

He made the two of you a yummo dinner and proposed. You loved this one eye dragon so much, so you instantly accepted

That night before you fell asleep you tuned around in Masamune’s arms to stare up at him

Your mind was being overactive with what-if scenarios, you really loved Masamune, but you knew his clan and people would not be pleased by the news of him marrying a foreigner

Not just that but you had seen him receive many marriage requests over the years, and there was one in particular that his clan was pushing him to accept

Masamune could see all the questions swirling in your eyes, he simply bent down and kissed your nose, forehead and then pulled you closer to him

He told you that he didn’t care what anyone else thought and that the two of you would take it one day at a time

Needless to say, Masamune’s people loved you, you had visited Masamune’s home many times and spent lots of time getting to know everyone. You were one of those genuinely friendly people who cared about people

It’s one of the traits that attracted Masamune to you, you didn’t care if someone was rich or poor you treated them equality

No no, the problem came with the higher-ups, they didn’t trust you, and they didn’t deem you worthy. After all, what did you know about history or tradition, you were just some random foreigner.

When Masamune announced that you were his fiancé; they just said No, like they completely rejected the whole idea. Not only that, but they brought some other random princess out and told him that she would be better suited for him.

Luckily Masamune is a stubborn man, so he just ignored their “suggestions.” But like I said, the clan members and a few smaller date clan allies were not having it.

You went back home alone to Azuchi after the meeting with the date clan, leaving Masamune there to deal with them. You were honestly so upset, what was supposed to be a happy announcement turned into the worst day of your life.

Little did they know you and Nobunaga were very good friends, like you would pop into his room for tea at random times friend. The cry on his shoulder about the backlash of Masamune announcing his intention to marry you, kind of friends.

And it just so happened that Nobunaga was one of their biggest allies along with Ieyasu, and let be real attending all the banquets got you in good with both of their clan members and if anything they were trying to convince you to marry those two idiots instead of Masamune. So, to say you were backed by two other powerful clans would be an understatement.

Nobunaga listened as you cried about everything that had been said, then he gave you a big wide smile and said: “Come fireball, let’s go scare the shit out of them to make you feel better.”

You Nobunaga and Ieyasu rode to Masamune’s home the next day, they burst into the council room doors, and saw that Masamune was still arguing with everyone over your marriage.

All heads were turned to Nobunaga as he stood by the door with Ieyasu and swiftly proclaimed that you were not just some foreigner but a princess of the Oda forces and if they have a problem with Masamune wanting to wed his sister then he would end the alliance right there and invade.

Ieyasu nodded in agreement

Hehe you definitely had a smug look on your face, both Ieyasu and Nobunaga had claimed you as their dearest sister, not just that but Nobunaga had pulled out a letter from Kenshin and Shingen in which both also gave you their backing.

Kenshin’s letter obviously being very threatening and saying he would have no probs with allying with Nobunaga and going to war with them for refusing you lol.

Looks like you have some friends in powerful places

Lol those clan boys never questioned you or threatened you again. If anything, they blessed your marriage and stayed faaaaar away from you. They definitely didn’t want to get on your bad side

Kenshin

Kenshin had found his Goddess, of war, his soulmate, the and only woman who would ever hold his heart and soul

It was well known that you were the only woman that Kenshin looked at, the feared woman-hating Kenshin disliked all women but one.

And that would be you

If anything when Kenshin announced that he was going to marry you people were more surprised than anything else

Everyone honestly loved you, mostly they loved that fact that you were the only one who calmed Kenshin the hell down

His clan was overjoyed that he had finally found a life partner

They were honestly just starting to accept the fact that Kenshin would have no heirs

One night while cuddling with Kenshin, you voiced your concerns about not being accepted by his people because you were a foreigner

Kenshin legit looked you in the eyes and said if anyone dares oppose your marriage to him, or utter one bad thing about you he wouldn’t hesitate to kill them

Like he was pulled away from someone he loved in the past, but now it was different, now he had power. He would kill anyone that dare stood in his way! He will not lose the love of his life to anyone

Kenshin nuzzled into your neck and reassured you and then proceeded to pepper you with kisses, he loved you so much

And as if overhearing the whole conversation all of a sudden, the whole bunny army came into the room and joined in on the cuddles

Kenshin couldn’t help but laugh at the silly creatures “And love, you forget you command a whole vicious army of your own. I am sure the bunnies would not hesitate to stand up to anyone who tries to hurt their goddess”. As if agreeing with Kenshin the bunnies started nuzzling the two of you.

All your worries and anxiety were short-lived as when Kenshin made the official announcement, everyone was overjoyed. No one really cared that you were a foreigner, plus no one felt like having their head detached from their shoulders

And if that wasn’t enough, at the banquet celebrating your engagement, the bunnies all attended in celebration with the people, some of the bun buns would sit on your lap staring down anyone who might have worn the slightest frown towards you. These bunnies would not hesitate to attack anyone who made would make you sad just like their master.

Hehehe this is probs not my best work but here it is anyways! <3

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